


None But The Brave Deserve The Fair

by CleopatraIsMyName



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angst, Anxiety, Auror Draco Malfoy, Auror Harry Potter, Auror Partners, Auror Training, Aurors, Awkward First Times, BAMF Hermione Granger, Bisexual Male Character, Blow Jobs, Blushing, British English, Cynicism, Draco Malfoy & Ron Weasley Friendship, Drinking to Cope, Enemies to Friends, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, HP: EWE, Harry Potter Has PTSD - Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, Harry Potter Needs a Hug, Heavy Drinking, Hermione Granger is a Good Friend, Humor, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Intervention, Jealous Harry, Literary References & Allusions, Loss of Virginity, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Mutual Masturbation, Nervous Harry, Nightmares, Panic Attacks, Pining Harry Potter, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Redeemed Draco Malfoy, Ron Weasley is a Good Friend, Safewords, Sarcasm, Sexual Content, Swearing, Tags Are Fun, Tags Contain Spoilers, Tags May Change, Unresolved Sexual Tension, Virgin Harry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-15
Updated: 2018-04-25
Packaged: 2019-04-23 06:13:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 28,517
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14326323
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CleopatraIsMyName/pseuds/CleopatraIsMyName
Summary: Harry, Draco and Ron are Aurors. Draco has saved Ron's life, so everyone, including the Weasley Clan adore him. Harry is jealous.I wanted to write something where the angst in a story came from something other than Ron hating gays and hating Draco.





	1. The Prologue

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Sophie_French](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sophie_French/gifts).



> Disclaimer: J K Rowling is a god of fantasy fiction. I don’t own anything, except my laptop, so please don’t take it away from me. If I owned the boys they’d basically never get out of bed and they’d let me watch. 
> 
> This was written in 2013, when I was in hospital a couple of times, and then recuperating for several months. I wrote chunks of this when I was feeling well enough. It was beta-ed and published on FF.net I have fiddled with the odd sentence since, so please don't blame my old betas, neither of whom are still writing. Thanks again Sophie_French, you were amazing.
> 
> Warnings: EWE. Swearing. British-isms. Literary quotes. More Swearing. Abuse of Capital Letters. Eventually slash HPDM. If you are homophobic and/or don’t like boys doing stuff with other boys then why are you reading this?
> 
> Any non-Canon characters are named for various science fiction writers from the 1950s onwards.

**None But The Brave Deserve The Fair – The Prologue**

Harry Potter slumped in his chair at the Burrow, nursing his cup of tea. He had spent the evening silently seething; watching the poncy, blond bastard insinuate himself further into Harry's adopted clan. Malfoy was having an animated conversation with Bill Weasley about famous and unpleasant curses through the ages; many, it seemed, had been cast by a Malfoy on a Weasley and vice versa. Some had even been invented by an ancestor with a member of the other family in mind.

At least this conversation was mildly interesting. Earlier he had been treated to Malfoy and Percy giggling about ministry gossip, with Malfoy stage-whispering, “Really, then what did Shacklebolt say?”

He felt as if he had spent the evening trying unsuccessfully to tune out the pointy pillock. He had not needed to see Malfoy’s orgasmic face over the dinner table. The slimy sod had eaten three helpings of Molly Weasley’s Lamb & Apricot Casserole, exclaiming, “So much better than our old house elves. How DO you get the lamb so tender?” Mrs Weasley had blushed furiously, launching into some complicated speech about marinades. And though Harry had left half of his on the plate she hadn’t noticed.

He had not enjoyed Malfoy and Ron bickering good-heartedly about Quidditch and the latest Beater for the Chudley Cannons, especially Malfoy’s pontificating, “Well, with Sheckley on the team, they can’t stay bottom of the league for much longer!”

He had heard Malfoy in the background throughout the evening. Childish though it was, he felt like he was being mocked by the smug bastard.

The rotten icing on an even more rotten cake had been Malfoy and Ginny discussing fabric for Ginny’s forthcoming nuptials to Michael Corner. Here the loudest phrase had been a very poof-y, “An ivory would make your skin so luminous but white would make you look like you were suffering from Consumption.”

Malfoy had even read a Muggle bedtime story to Victoire Weasley. Something about a multi-coloured elephant, that Hermione had brought with her. The image of Victoire’s chubby little arms around the neck of her newest ‘uncle’ made Harry sick. Anything around Malfoy’s lily-white, aristocratically pure-blood neck should rightly be throttling him.  
He had ground his teeth so much they ached.

Harry longed for the Good Old Days at Hogwarts, where That Smarmy Git Malfoy was loathed by all sensible Gryffindors, red-headed or not. He was not convinced by the New, Improved Malfoy, the Hero of the Weasley World, All Round Good Guy, and the Brand New Adopted Son of Arthur and Molly.

He finished his now cold tea and got up to leave. Molly made a half-hearted offer of leftovers, "Just in case you get hungry on the way home to dinner." Harry forced a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes and went outside to Apparate home. Once there, he took a Headache Potion and went to bed.

His nose was firmly out of joint.

-o-o-o-o-

 

Author's Notes:

  
"His nose was firmly out of joint" is both a British expression AND a literary quote. In this case it means he was resentful, pushed out of his normal top-billing, slighted.

  
Malfoy reads Victoire, 'Elmer the Patchwork Elephant' by David McKee, a story about diversity and acceptance.


	2. Stealth and Tracking

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Premise: Harry, Draco and Ron are Aurors. Draco has saved Ron's life, so everyone, including the Weasley Clan adore him. Harry is jealous. [I wanted to write something where the angst in a story came from something other than Ron hating gays and hating Draco.]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: J K Rowling is a god of fantasy fiction. I don’t own anything, except my laptop, so please don’t take it away from me. If I owned the boys they’d basically never get out of bed and they’d let me watch. 
> 
> This was written in 2013, when I was in hospital a couple of times, and then recuperating for several months. I wrote chunks of this when I was feeling well enough. It was beta-ed and published on FF.net I have fiddled with the odd sentence since, so please don't blame my old betas, neither of whom are still writing.
> 
> Warnings: EWE. Swearing. British-isms. Literary quotes. More Swearing. Abuse of Capital Letters. Eventually slash HPDM. If you are homophobic and/or don’t like boys doing stuff with other boys then why are you reading this?
> 
> Any non-Canon characters are named for various science fiction writers from the 1950s onwards.

** None But The Brave Deserve The Fair – Chapter 2: Stealth and Tracking **

Harry spent the morning doing paperwork at the Auror office. The final two Death Eaters: Aldiss and Leinster **-** all that remained of Lord Voldemort's side from the war four years ago **-** were safely on their way to Azkaban, thanks to insider tips from Former Death Eater, Wizz Kid Auror and the New Ministry Platinum Boy: Draco Malfoy.

Harry met Hermione for lunch in the Ministry canteen. Any sympathy he might have expected from her was crushed within seconds, as she launched into gushing praise of Malfoy's latest 'helpful suggestions’. Those 'helpful suggestions' being how to phrase Hermione's new campaign for the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. The effusive comment that stuck this time was, "Draco knows **_just_** the right way to convince the pure-bloods of our point of view!"

Harry produced monosyllables when Hermione appeared to require them. He really didn't care what the Slimy Slytherin Sod was up to now. "Yeah", "No", "Really?" would just have to cover it.

"Harry!" Hermione exclaimed. "Have you been listening to **_anything_** I've been saying?"

"Sorry, Hermione, I just can't take any more! I don't **_care_** what Malfoy's been up to, or who he's saved this time **,** or how marvellous he is."

Hermione sighed, "Oh Harry, Draco's changed. You used to believe it too."

-o-o-o-o-

(Four years ago)

On the first of September, almost four months to the day after the end of the Battle of Hogwarts, the school reopened, with Minerva McGonagall as Headmistress. With so many families fled, and students missing or deceased, the school had barely half the customary number of scholars. But the famous British Bulldog Spirit didn't just apply to the muggle world. Aware of the depleted student numbers, and not wanting the Great Hall half empty, McGonagall had invited the previous seventh year cohort back for an 'eighth year'. The benefits being, of course, to enable them to study and obtain their NEWTS, as well as the chance to be teenagers again, not easy after the horrors of the war. It was not a massive success **,** but enough students came back for it to be workable. Harry, Ron, Hermione **,** and Malfoy were amongst those who returned. Malfoy’s eighth year was a condition of his Community Service.

Harry was aware that he needed to do **_something_** to make peace with Malfoy. He wanted a quiet and stress-free final year at Hogwarts. The antagonism and hatred of the previous seven needed to end. He decided, with Minerva's approval, to do this at the Welcoming Feast.

Despite hating public speaking with a passion, he made a short speech thanking all the returning students for supporting Hogwarts, and greeting the new ones. He made everyone laugh when he quoted a famous Chinese Muggle curse, "May you live in interesting times," saying that he hoped it would not apply to the students of Hogwarts **_this_** year – no basilisks, Polyjuiced teachers or escaped criminals, thank you very much. He credited Narcissa Malfoy for saving his life in the Forbidden Forest and Malfoy's wand for helping him defeat 'He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named'. Harry then offered the former Death Eater back his wand and held out his hand to shake… There was a stunned silence. The Slytherin Ice Prince looked dumbfounded but he graciously took the wand and shook Harry's hand, to cheers and applause from the floor.

The peace held. Malfoy was polite to the Golden Trio, kept his head down and worked hard. Ron and the others, heavily influenced by Harry, did not mock Draco about Lucius Malfoy's trial and subsequent incarceration in Azkaban. Nor was he teased when the humiliated family's Nouveau Pauvre status became clear. The Ministry had demanded the majority of the Malfoy fortune in war reparations, and the Malfoys were now poorer than the Weasleys.

Hermione and Ron were seldom apart, and thankfully were not nauseatingly 'In Love'. Harry and Ginny didn't get back together. It just didn’t _feel_ right, and she had never really forgiven him for leaving her to go off and hunt Horcruxes. She dated extensively. Harry did not.

Their eighth year at Hogwarts passed uneventfully in a haze of lessons, homework, Quidditch, a surfeit of Chocolate Frogs, Ron thrashing everyone at chess and visits to Hogsmeade.

The seventh and eighth years duly took their NEWT level exams. Hermione, of course, achieved the best results of the lot and was fast-tracked into the Ministry. Harry, Ron, and to everyone's surprise, Draco Malfoy, applied for, and were accepted, onto the Auror Training Course.

-o-o-o-o-

(Three years ago)

The Autumn 1999 intake of trainee aurors was twelve, a large number as so many of the old guard had died fighting Voldemort. The normal Auror training of three years was to be packed into two years and they would have to work harder than they'd ever worked before. The 1998 cohort were just about to start placements, but were still a year off graduating. Remaining Death Eaters who had fled or were in hiding still needed to be contained.

The apprentices lived in the Ministry hall of residence. Harry and Ron shared a room, as did Malfoy and another novice named Ken Bulmer, who had moved to the UK from Australia after the war had ended. The others were similarly paired up in the rooms on the same corridor. The training programme was fiendishly difficult, as well as physically and mentally draining. They studied all sorts of new subjects from Concealment and Disguise to Stealth and Tracking, as well as Muggle methods (to be used mainly if disarmed), from how to break away if grabbed by a suspect, to physical combat and martial arts. They all put in ridiculously long hours and came back to their digs only to shower and sleep.

Malfoy was still unfailing polite to Harry and Ron but as the trainees bonded and began to tease and prank each other, he lightened up and turned out to have a wicked sense of humour. He could mimic most of the instructors and had the other undergraduates in stitches. He came up with the wittiest nicknames for their trainers and tutors, and declared that anyone involved in education who thought they could get away with the surname 'Moorcock' and **_not_** expect to be mocked, was living in a fool's paradise. It was assumed that Professor Michelle Moorcock, the rather scary Curses tutor, was either not aware of Malfoy's name for her or had heard it too many times to care, as he passed her subject with honours.

Most of the students spent Friday and sometimes Saturday nights at a wizarding pub called the Moon and Sickle. The Australian, Ken Bulmer, as the stereotype suggested, could drink the others under the table. Standing 6 foot 4 in his socks and built like the proverbial brick outhouse, he would sling the drunkest of the trainees over his shoulder, and the others would stagger around him back to their rooms before passing out on sofas, beds, baths, and, on one memorable occasion, the kitchen table.

At some unspecified point they became Oz, Ferret, Weasel and Scarhead, but the nicknames were used with affection rather than bitterness.

Not long back after the Christmas holidays, Harry caught Malfoy looking despondent and, when pushed, Draco admitted to missing his godfather. Snape would have had his fortieth birthday that week. This led Harry to own up to having seen Snape's dying recollections and having aided his posthumous redemption. This, after all, was not public knowledge. The Wizengamot had observed Harry's pensieve evidence about Snape in private, meaning the only information in the public domain was the absolving of Snape's status as a Death Eater, and confirmation that Severus Snape had been a loyal spy of Dumbledore's and had aided Voldemort's downfall by being a double agent.

Draco was stunned by the revelation that Snape had loved Lily Evans and listened intently to Harry's tales of the hostility between Snape and the Marauders, of failed Occlumency lessons and the legend of the Half-Blood Prince. Draco told Harry of his happy Snape-related childhood memories. Snape had, of course, bought a 'My Very First Potions Kit' for Malfoy's eighth birthday. He had also shown Draco how to brew a cleansing ointment which restored Malfoy's milky white hands to their original hue no matter what he had spilled on them. If, at some points in the conversation, the blond's big grey eyes looked about to shed a tear, Harry was too savvy to mention it after **_that_** sixth year incident.

Six months into their training, on Ron's twentieth birthday, Bulmer produced a bottle of Ogden's Old Firewhiskey, and they played various drinking games, culminating in a drunken, yet ferocious, game of exploding snap. Ron lost an eyebrow, Harry lost both, and Malfoy set the entire left side of his head on fire. Oz had to throw a blanket over his head to put him out.

Luckily the Auror infirmary was run by Healer Blish, who appeared to have rather a crush on Draco. She looked horrified at the scorched, half-bald blond and gave him a soothing balm and a potion to regrow his hair. She merely laughed at Harry and Ron singed faces and offered them an eyebrow pencil.

Draco's June birthday was celebrated in style: they actually ate out together, rather than just snacking to mop up the alcohol. Malfoy and Bulmer introduced the Gryffindors to sushi, at 'Oishii', a rather trendy muggle restaurant not far from the ministry. Ron refused to touch the raw fish, sticking to miso, shellfish and noodles but Harry tried everything, as it all looked so pretty.

It was at 'Oishii' that Harry finally began to admit to himself that what he felt for Draco was perhaps a little more than just a friend. The sight of Malfoy's alabaster hands deftly wielding chopsticks and slipping slivers of tuna between his rosy lips made Harry feel… **_something_**. Not so much hot and bothered, just a rather warm, tingly feeling whenever he looked at the flaxen-haired youth.

It had been a slow burner, turning seven years of animosity to one year of indifference to a nine months transition from merely someone intent on the same career path, to colleague, to friend. And now what? There was much to admire in the new improved Draco: more down-to-earth, less judgemental, more open, less anally retentive, more tolerant, less Slytherin, more Gryffindor. The old Malfoy was haughty, reserved, and fastidious, and his manners, though well-bred, were not inviting. The new one was a beautiful, interesting, and engaging young man.

Harry had absolutely no intention of doing anything about his crush. They had to work together. They would be moving from mainly classroom based, to their intensive placements at the start of September. It would not be quite active service, but as close as. It was possible their happy quartet would be split up anyway, though the Head Auror preferred well-bonded pairs or groups, who would back each other up without hesitation and defend their colleagues at all costs. If Harry was given the choice, he would have chosen the three without a second thought but there would be the other second year trainees and who knew what combination would suit their future Section Chief.

-o-o-o-o-

(Two years ago)

The training placements were exciting and boring at the same time. The quartet were assigned to work under the section chief, Jim Ballard, with two other more experienced Aurors, Paula Anderson and Kylie Bonfiglioli.

Ballard was in his mid-fifties, grizzled and battle-worn. He could be crotchety but he was scrupulously fair. Paula was in her late thirties, tall and angular, with a sharp sense of humour and an encyclopaedic knowledge of every case on which she had ever worked. She had so much experience, and if she was around, it was always quicker to ask Paula than look anything up. Kylie was ten years or so younger, small, quick and lively, fantastic at charms and newly married to Giulio Bonfiglioli, from the Misuse of Muggle Artefacts Office. Apparently the Bonfiglioli clan rivalled the Weasleys for family size and there was a Ministry sweepstakes running on exactly how quickly Kylie would request office only duties.

The field work was stimulating, if dangerous, but the paperwork was tedious, and there was a lot of it. The aurors were still dealing with Voldemort's twisted legacy: psychotic Death Eaters, cursed buildings, missing Dark Artefacts, as well as the occasional Obliviated memory, and the second year undergraduate aurors were plunged into it.

The hours were ridiculous and Harry once worked out he had clocked up a ninety six hour week. He wondered whether perhaps there was a secret store of Time Turners for trainee Auror use only but someone had forgotten to give them out. It might be some kind of test but he was too tired to tell. Oz, Malfoy and Harry still lived in their rooms in the Ministry hall of residence; very welcome as food was provided and they lurched from Hall to Ministry and back again with monotonous rapidity. Ron and Hermione had decided to move in together. Harry missed his roommate, though he rather liked having the bedroom and tiny sitting room to himself.

Bulmer had an on again, off again girlfriend; a mediwitch named Emily, and spent some of his downtime with her. Shopping for kitchen implements and looking at wallpaper swatches seemed to fill up a lot of Ron's limited spare time.

However the original foursome still spent their occasional free nights drinking, though attendance was no longer mandatory. Sometimes it was just Harry and Draco, supping mead at the Moon and Sickle, before they wobbled off back to either Harry's rooms or Malfoy's to chat until one of them passed out from either alcohol or sleep deprivation. And if Harry spent the odd occasion watching the moonlight bounce off Malfoy's platinum hair as he slept on Harry's sofa, well no one knew but Harry. He nurtured his crush; it was his and his alone. No one else needed to know. It wasn't so bad that it would ever prevent him working on a case with Draco. It made no difference to anyone but him.

-o-o-o-o-

(One year ago)

They graduated at the start of September. The whole Weasley clan turned out to watch the ceremony and Molly went through at least a dozen handkerchiefs. Ken's parents took an international Portkey from Adelaide, along with his younger sister, Shannon, who hit it off immediately with Ginny. Andromeda Tonks couldn't make it as Teddy was too little and too naughty and his Accidental magic was uncontrollable. Harry would have given anything for Sirius, Remus, or Dumbledore to be there to witness his triumph. Nevertheless, he knew that Hermione and the Weasleys were cheering just as loudly for him, as for Ron, and that made it better.

  
But Draco had… nobody. Lucius was in Azkaban and Narcissa no longer went out in public. He received only the polite, but lacklustre clapping of the assembly and no one applauded just for him. Harry's heart went out to him, but he could hardly invite a Malfoy back to the slap-up meal at the Burrow. The new graduates would all be going out for pizza the following night but just now he had not a soul to see his success, and tonight, Draco would have to go back to his digs alone.

 -o-o-o-o-

To their relief, Section Chief Auror Ballard took them on as a bonded quartet. They shared a rather untidy office. Ron's rather slapdash approach to paperwork was covered by meticulous Malfoy, who knew that tactical planning was Ron's forte. Harry had always been best at combat and defensive spells, and nothing had changed; no one mentioned the V-word, but Harry was automatically appointed Team Leader. Oz was the muscle: he had come top of the physical combat training and just looking at him had many criminals shaking in their dragon-hide boots. Draco's specialty was curses and, of course, his insider knowledge.

As he had been a Death Eater, albeit underage when he had taken the Dark Mark, Malfoy was able to make educated guesses of places to search for the fugitives, and he could identify possible suspects by looking at pensieve memories. Ballard's team led the way, and their success rate was far higher than the others. As the months passed, the list of outstanding renegades dwindled and shrank until there were only three left: Belknap, Leinster and Aldiss.

Belknap was the most powerful, and it was thought he had been involved in helping the Dark Lord develop new spells and enchantments. However, he had now only a slender grip on reality and was rumoured to believe that if he could kill enough muggles, his Dark Lord would return, and live forever. It also didn't appear to bother Belknap how many witches or wizards, or indeed aurors he killed as well. Of the last three aurors, who had gone up against Belknap, two were dead and the third had a permanent bed in the Spell Damage Ward at St Mungo's.

Then came that fateful date three months previous when Harry's world changed.

Anderson was in St Mungo's as a curse had hit her the day before, shattering every bone in her body, and Bonfiglioli was on maternity leave. Ballard had faith in his boys, though. They were summoned to his office for a briefing.

Section Chief Auror Ballard leaned against his desk and issued his commands crisply, "Right, Death Eater Francis Belknap was spotted entering Knockturn Alley fifteen minutes ago. We have warned the shopkeepers to stay out of the way.”

"Aurors Potter and Weasley: Apparate to the end and block off his exit. Aurors Bulmer and Malfoy: go in from the front. Keep him in your sights the whole time. He's cunning, brutal and quite mad. He's killed at least fifty seven muggles, five wizards and three witches since the war ended, as well as two aurors. He is **_not_** getting away now. I want him in custody and in front of the Wizengamot as a priority. Do **_WHATEVER_** it takes…"

-o-o-o-o-

Oz was the one the closest to Belknap, who spun round like a thing possessed and fired off a Reducto, throwing Bulmer hard against the wall, with a dull thud. The Death Eater muttered something incomprehensible and suddenly there were two Belknaps, then four, then eight; all insane and firing curses at the three remaining aurors.

"It's a variation of the Gemino Curse!" yelled Malfoy. "He was working on it with the Dark Lord. Belknap will multiply and you have to fight all the copies. Finite Incantatem won't work, you'll have to hold them off whilst I work the cancellation spell." He dropped to the ground and began to utter strange syllables, in a language Harry didn't recognise.

Harry and Ron started duelling the numerous Death Eaters, but it was two against eight. Harry, as Team Leader, gave the command, "Umbridge," their code for "Get back-up!" He ducked and weaved, wand set to Stun, as the various Belknaps muttered, snarled, shielded, swore and hexed, shooting multi-coloured spells in every direction.

What happened next was etched into Harry's consciousness. Indeed he had replayed it incessantly in the Auror Office Pensieve. He had even considered buying his own so he could relive it at home too. It had only taken a few seconds but he needed to see all the angles and everything had happened at once.

Ron, Protego activated, sent off his Patronus for back-up and Healers for Bulmer. In doing so he turned very slightly to the side of his Shield, and one of the Belknaps pounced. A flash of green light shot from the wrathful wizard's wand straight towards Ron.

Malfoy screamed, " ** _Weasel!_** " and threw himself protectively towards Ron, whilst still gabbling nonsense and flexing his wand simultaneously.

Belknap's Avada Kedavra missed a startled Ron by around a millimetre.

A blaze of turquoise sparks shot from Malfoy's Hawthorn wand towards the Belknaps and suddenly the octet of duelling wizards became one again.

Belknap roared but Harry was too quick. He rapidly cast a Petrificus Totalus, followed by an Incarcerous, and Disapparated with the now incapacitated Death Eater Belknap.

Ron and Malfoy followed Harry back to the Ministry, with an unconscious Oz between them.

-o-o-o-o-

At the final tally, Bulmer had a serious concussion and multiple fractures – he would live, but his immediate future was desk-bound. Malfoy had a broken arm and had bled heavily where he had hurled himself across the broken glass and stones that formed the alley floor, Harry had multiple cuts across his neck, torso and legs, adding to his already impressive collection of scars, whilst Ron had got away with his life and only a few scratches, thanks to Malfoy's quick thinking and skilled spell-casting.

Belknap was sentenced to life in Azkaban with no prospect of parole.

Harry Potter was already a hero. Now Draco Malfoy was a hero too.

 -o-o-o-o-

 

A/N: Brownie points for spotting the Jane Austen quote, as I was re-reading 'Pride and Prejudice' whilst in hospital.


	3. The Green-Eyed Monster

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Premise: Harry, Draco and Ron are Aurors. Draco has saved Ron's life, so everyone, including the Weasley Clan adore him. Harry is jealous. [I wanted to write something where the angst in a story came from something other than Ron hating gays and hating Draco.]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: J K Rowling is a god of fantasy fiction. I don’t own anything, except my laptop, so please don’t take it away from me. If I owned the boys they’d basically never get out of bed and they’d let me watch.
> 
> This was written in 2013, when I was in hospital a couple of times, and then recuperating for several months. I wrote chunks of this when I was feeling well enough. It was beta-ed and published on FF.net I have fiddled with the odd sentence since, so please don't blame my old betas, neither of whom are still writing.
> 
> Warnings: LOTS OF SEXUAL REFERENCES. Alcohol abuse. Sarcasm/ cynicism/very dry humour. EWE. Swearing. British-isms. Literary quotes. More Swearing. Abuse of Capital Letters. Eventually slash HPDM. If you are homophobic and/or don’t like boys doing stuff with other boys then why are you reading this?
> 
> Any non-Canon characters are named for various science fiction writers from the 1950s onwards.

** None But The Brave Deserves The Fair – Chapter 3: The Green-Eyed Monster **

That Harry Potter **-** The-Boy-Who-Lived and Saviour of the Wizarding World **-** was a hero was in no doubt but it was old, stale news. The Prophet had already spun it in more ways than a muggle politician at election time.

There had, however, never ever been a heroic Malfoy. The world was ready for one.

One of the witches Belknap had killed was Augustine Derleth, a niece of one of the senior Wizengamot members. It would be libellous to say that the Wizengamot put any pressure on the Ministry but no one was surprised when Malfoy was awarded an Order of Merlin. Now something needed to be done about his fallen family.

Malfoy Manor, which had been forfeit to the Ministry several years earlier as part of the war reparation, was not returned and neither were the Malfoy galleons **,** but the disgraced Lucius Malfoy was hastily given a conditional release from Azkaban. He was to be under house arrest and released into the care of Narcissa, who had been living in a small, rundown cottage in the Lake District. A small stipend ensured they could live, if not comfortably, at least respectably and with the dignity due to their hero son.

Belknap had killed a wizard named Clifton Simak, a cousin-in-law of Daily Prophet Editor Barnabas Cuffe. To suggest that this had any effect on the Prophet's frenzied 'journalism' would be pure cynicism. The feverish articles cast Malfoy as the new Saviour of the Wizarding World, second only to Merlin himself: gorgeous, clever, witty, pure-blooded and, yes ladies and gentlemen, single!

The Prophet induced Draco hysteria spread. The Wimbourne Wasps offered him the Seeker's job (to the anger of the previous incumbent) but Malfoy refused, swearing his allegiance to the Aurors. He was offered a plum job with the Ministry, but this was refused too. He opened the new wing at St Mungo's and admiring witches and more than a few smitten wizards queued around the block to shake the hand he hadn't broken.

Draco's pink pout adorned copies of 'Witch Weekly'. Celestina Warbeck wanted to record a song with him. The hair colour of the season was platinum blond. Robes in Slytherin Green and Silver were 'in'. A 'Draco Malfoy' card was added to chocolate frog cards. Auror applications were up as Hogwarts students idolised him. A flattering and rather mendacious biography of the Malfoy dynasty was published **,** unfeasibly quickly. Children wore 'I (heart) Draco' badges. Pet shops sold out of snakes.

It was even joked that as 'Malfoy' meant 'Bad Faith', Draco would be changing his surname to 'Bonfoy'.

Harry could have dealt with all of this nonsense. He knew about the fickle world of celebrity.

However as various ex, erm, 'partners' popped their slimy heads out of the woodwork, the kiss-and-tell stories made Harry crimson and unable to look the blond in the eye. From the sound of it, if what Malfoy and the Slytherins had allegedly got up to in their Hogwarts common room was even a quarter true, it was amazing that any of them had had the energy to get out of bed, let alone lift a wand to support their Dark Lord. It seemed that a Slytherin's natural state was not only bisexual, but indeed omnisexual, prone to participating in orgies and permanently horny.

Harry raised his eyebrows at this. He wondered for a moment whether Snape had condoned the behaviour of his house or if he was currently spinning in his grave. It was rather touching that Snape's loyalty and fidelity to Lily had been so out of Slytherin character. No wonder he had hidden his true self from Voldemort for so many years.

Oh and apparently it wasn't just Malfoy's Hawthorn wand that was ten inches long. This really made Harry blush. He knew he was far more innocent than other young men of his age, yet he really didn't want his first time to be with someone he didn't, well damn it, love! And he had always assumed the other person would love him back. If the hunt for Horcruxes hadn't happened when it did, he probably would have had sex with Ginny, and that would have been fine. But it had and he hadn't.

And then came the gruelling trainee Auror schedule and he hadn't exactly had time for dating. And now he was in his early twenties, and it was embarrassing to still be a virgin, but he still wanted to do it with someone special. Draco might indeed be interested in taking Harry to bed, if only because Harry had a pulse, not that this would have allegedly bothered some of the Slytherins. But by the sound of it, he would need to disinfect Malfoy's dick first as it seemed to have been inserted into every available orifice.

-o-o-o-o-

Embarrassment aside, what Harry couldn't handle was the genuine love, gratitude and appreciation that spread Malfoy's way from the Weasley tribe.

Fred had only died a few years before. Bill's scars hadn't faded much and neither had his desire for steak tartare. George was still 'holey', though he covered it with a Glamour. Arthur and Molly had been through a lot **,** and even the _idea_ that Ron had been a millimetre away from an Avada Kedavra frightened them to pieces. That a Malfoy had injured himself saving a Weasley, after the generations of antagonism between the families **,** was more than cause for celebration. Draco was welcomed to the Burrow with open arms. Everyone adored him. And he appeared to adore them back.

Arthur and Malfoy discussed muggle gadgets for hours at a time. Apparently Draco had always been secretly fascinated by muggle technology. Draco was often to be found with Arthur, rhapsodising over old circuit boards in Arthur's shed.

Molly learned his favourite dishes and cooked them. She knitted him a 'Weasley jumper', in silver with a green 'D' and _Malfoy actually wore it more than once!_

Malfoy brought his all-encompassing potion knowledge to George and 'Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes'. They developed prank potions together and George happily paid fifty per cent commission to Draco, supplementing Malfoy's hardly generous public sector Auror's salary. Apparently he sent most of it to his parents.

Even Fleur loved Draco, who, of course, spoke French effortless and the Gallic conversation and shrugs flowed freely. Of course the Weasleys just worshipped him all the more **,** as they now had less time to be forced to interact with Phlegm!

Harry had thought at least sensible Hermione would be immune to Malfoymania but when he found them chatting away like old friends he wanted to slit his wrists. They were more similar than anyone had ever suspected: both highly intelligent, self-motivated **,** and naturally studious. But the clincher was when Hermione discovered Draco had not only read 'Hogwarts: A History' by Bathilda Bagshot, but it was his favourite childhood book. When she found Malfoy could quote passages from it, Harry began to have serious doubts over the future of Ron and Hermione's engagement.

But Draco was Ron's Saviour first and foremost. Ron's arm slung across the blond's skinny shoulders made Harry green with envy. Malfoy was a Wizard's Chess fan and they played long into the night. Ron lost his only game as an adult to Draco but rather than putting him off the conniving Slytherin git, Ron seemed to be all the more devoted to him. It seemed Ron appreciated a challenge.

Harry was utterly miserable.

-o-o-o-o-

It wasn't even as if Harry was prepared to admit to exactly why he was so melancholy. He couldn't really identify what was going on in his head.

He wasn't jealous of Draco stealing his place in the wizarding spotlight, Harry had never enjoyed fame. In fact, as Malfoy was far more of a publicity whore than Harry, he was very happy to hand the Ministry Poster Boy job over to the Slytherin.

He didn't particularly want to spend the first half an hour of each working day watching Malfoy go through his fan mail. Oh everyone in the department enjoyed the sweets, cakes and chocolates sent by his besotted fans (once they had been checked for love potions!) The room smelled less of sweaty Auror and more of the perfumed flowers that arrived at least daily. Draco would read out some of the more pathetic attempts at rhyming couplets and they would all laugh heartily. They would snigger over the saucy limericks.

Occasionally some of the letters, cards and photographs would make the flaxen-haired man raise a perfect eyebrow and he would stuff those into his desk drawer and lock it.

Harry didn't want Malfoy's spare time taken up discussing wedding dress goblin embroidered silk with Ginny Weasley or snickering about politics with Percy.

He wanted…

He wanted the Weasleys back as _his_ adopted family. He wanted Ron back as his best mate. He wanted Hermione's sarcastic comments about the pure-bloods with whom she had to work.

But he also wanted those long, inebriated evenings at the Moon and Sickle. They couldn't go there now. They had tried it once but Malfoy was mobbed by admiring fans and Harry didn't want to watch the blond having his hand shaken by attractive wizards, posing for photos, being kissed by dozens of witches, even if it did mean every drink was on the house. Harry wanted Draco to spend time with _him_.

Oh, they could still hang out: at Hermione and Ron's flat, or at the Burrow, or if Harry ordered muggle takeout, at Harry's flat. But the intimacy had gone. There were no more occasions for Harry to sneak lingering looks at Draco's pale hands, or stealthy gazes at his silky fair hair, or study Draco's sleeping form curled up on Harry's sofa and think secret thoughts about that lithe body.

He still thought the secret thoughts, generally in the shower, so he didn't have to change his sheets every morning. He ached to touch Draco and for Draco to touch him but he had resigned himself to knowing that it would never, ever happen.

-o-o-o-o-

That morning's fan mail had included two boxes of chocolates, a dozen roses, a rather pitiful homemade cake the blond dropped straight into the bin, four cards and a charmed photo of three witches, in muggle cheerleading outfits, high-kicking and singing, "Oh Draco, you're so fine, you're so fine, you blow my mind, hey Draco, hey Draco!"

Ron snorted, and Oz winked, saying lewdly, "Yeah 'cause it's your _mind_ that you'd like 'em to blow, right Ferret?!"

Draco's milky skin went pink as he blushed, and Harry suddenly found his trousers were too tight. He thanked Merlin for his loose Auror robes; they covered a multitude of sins.

Luckily, Ron unwittingly distracted everyone by getting four gold envelopes out of his bag and passing them out: the invitations to Ginny's wedding. Harry's was addressed to 'Harry Potter plus one' and Draco's in a similar form. Ron looked at Oz and cleared his throat, "So Oz, mate, how are things with you and Emily?"

Oz laughed, "We're on, Weasel!" Ron cheerfully Incendio-ed the spare envelope and handed Oz the one marked 'Ken Bulmer and Emily Petaja'.

"Oh yeah, and guys, the stag night is in a month's time, so we need to find a way to welcome Michael into the Weasley family. Any ideas?"

Oz shot Ron a look. Harry was not sure exactly what it meant, but he’d never been any good at subtext. Then Ron turned to Draco and said, "So Ferret, mate, I bet you've got some good ideas for a monumental party. Wanna chat over a cuppa?"

Draco raised an eyebrow but he smiled and followed Ron out of the office, saying, "Well, yes, the Malfoys do rather have a tradition of outstanding revelry!"

As soon as they had left the room, Oz nipped up and shut the door behind them, spelling it locked. He turned to Harry and smirked, "So, Scarhead, my son, are you planning on telling the Ferret how you feel about him any time soon?" Harry blushed scarlet before he realised that actually Oz might referring to Harry being jealous of Draco, rather than Harry's lust problem.

"Erm, what are you on about Oz? Feeling what? I think he's a pompous twat but I'm not planning on wrecking our working relationship by telling him what I think about him!"

"No, no, no, no, no, Harry, you might think he's a pompous twat but that's not what I meant. You want to jump his bones, it's crystal clear!"

Harry was tempted to hex Oz into next week, but he restrained himself, "I don't know what you're talking about, Bulmer. Has someone Confunded you?"

Oz grinned, "You want him, you fancy him, you wanna shag him! How much clearer can I be? And it's not just me that knows it. Hermione told Weasel. That's why he dragged the Ferret out of here, so we get the chance for a chat. So, how are we gonna get you guys together?"

The last time Harry had felt this hot, red-faced, and uncomfortable was when his pizza had had jalapeno peppers on rather than the usual kind. His subtle looks towards Draco had, _apparently_ , been less subtle and more _obvious_ than he had realised. He buried his head in his hands and wondered whether it would be possible to Obliviate Hermione, Ron and Oz without anyone noticing. Then, he suddenly went cold, "Does Draco know?" he asked Oz.

Oz shrugged, "I doubt it. But as we think he likes you too, does it matter if he does know?"

" ** _Yes_!** " Harry yelled, banging his head repeatedly on the desk in front of him. "He's got a, you know, reputation. Hell, Oz, you've read the papers, he's fucked his way through most of Hogwarts. I don't want a one night stand and I don't want to catch anything either!"

"And since when did you believe everything you read in the papers? Shame on you, Scarhead! What kind of Auror are you? Where's your evidence? We've been close to the guy since we started training. He's never been near anyone that I've seen. If he was like that at school, well, we all did things we regretted as horny teenagers."

"What about his fan club? Are you really telling me he hasn't screwed any of them?"

Oz shrugged again, "I've seen them kiss him, I've never seen him kiss any of them. You should know, you've spent more time with him than I have recently. I haven't seen him even flirt with anyone. C'mon, are you a man or a mouse?"

Harry desperately hoped the sick-feeling in his stomach would pass soon. He had undoubtedly eaten too many of Draco's 'fan chocolates'. He chose his next words with care, "Look, Oz, whether or not he spent his time at Hogwarts going to orgies, I didn't! I was a bit too busy trying not to get killed by Voldemort. Then we were trying to keep Hogwarts together after the war, and then we started basic training. I haven't had time for dating _at all_."

Oz cocked his head to one side, "Yeah, Hermione said you were still a virgin!"

" ** _Merlin!_** You've all been gossiping about me! _**Fucking hell!**_ ****" Harry fired a wandless _Alohomora_ at the door and stormed out of the room. He nearly ran into Ron and Draco before turning tail and fleeing in the opposite direction. He Apparated back home to his flat, before sending his Patronus to tell Ballard he was feeling sick, which was **_true_** _,_ and had gone home to rest.

-o-o-o-o-

Harry spent the next few weeks avoiding everyone. He went back to work but he kept his head down and kept any conversation strictly case related. He was furious with Hermione for being her usual perceptive self and then telling his secrets to Ron and Oz. He was livid that they were all chattering about him and he was terrified that Draco would know.

Harry knew he wasn't a good enough actor to pretend things were fine, so he just said he didn't want to talk about it when anyone asked what the matter was. He didn't go out with the others or go over to the Burrow, instead buying a quarter sized bottle of whisky on his way home from work at the off-licence near his flat. A few drinks helped him to sleep, and drowned out the babble of voices in his mind.

If he thought he'd been miserable before, well this had no comparison.

-o-o-o-o-

The Friday of Michael's stag night came along fast. Oz and Ron had both tried to speak to Harry since that dreadful day in the office but Harry wasn't going to play. He also hadn't accepted Hermione's numerous Floo calls.

The Auror lads, along with the other Weasley brothers and cousins, the Corner men, and a load of Hogwarts alumni, would be meeting at 7pm at a very exclusive muggle restaurant in Soho. They would dine in a private room, and then go off into muggle London for an anonymous evening of cocktails and dancing. Draco had arranged everything and, even though the Malfoys were no longer rich, they still had the connections needed to organise a spectacular party.

The restaurant, the Captivating Colonel, was splendid, the food delicious and the wine free-flowing. Most of the Weasley brothers made toasts or speeches welcoming Michael into the family, and he replied in kind. Harry had managed to sit between Michael's Ravenclaw friends, Terry Boot and Anthony Goldstein, and was still avoiding the other Aurors.

It was more difficult when they moved to the nightclub, the Tiergarten. Oz collared Harry and dragged him off to the loo. He cast a Muffliato on the rest of the bathroom. "Listen, you prat, what are you playing at?" Oz demanded.

"What am **_I_** playing at?!?" Harry spluttered, "You are the ones I can't trust. You are the ones _**talking about me behind my back**_ ** _!"_**

"Yeah, we have been talking about you, 'cause you've been a bloody gloomy git and frankly we've been worried about you."

" _ **I was fine until you started talking behind my back!**_ **"**

"Look, we want you to be happy. Ferret likes you. Just talk to him. He doesn't know what he's done wrong. You've been ignoring him for weeks."

Harry's posture shifted from defensive to cowed, "I can't Oz, I can't. I don't want him to know I like him."

Bulmer sighed, "Look, man, I thought you were supposed to be a brave Gryffindor, where's all your courage gone? He likes you. Deal with it!"

Harry looked up wretchedly and repeated, "I can't Oz, I can't. Even if he does like me, I can't do it. If he kissed me, I'd just be thinking about all the other people he's snogged, and where his mouth has been. And if he knows I've never…he'll just laugh at me."

"I think you're wrong, Harry, I don't think he's done half of what they say he's done. I don't think you need to worry so much. And besides if he really likes you he won't care what you have or haven't done! Just talk to him!"

Oz finally let Harry out of the bathroom and steered him back to the bar. "Now, will it be a Ferret Wallbanger or a Screaming Blond Orgasm. Or would you prefer a Sloe Comfortable Screw with Draco Against the Wall?"

Harry blushed, "Just a straight whisky please." He sat on one of the high bar stools.

Oz grinned at the barman. "Make that a double please mate, and I'll have the same." He paid, took the drinks, passing one to Harry with a wink, and disappeared off into the darkness of the club. Harry took a slug of whisky, grimacing as it burned his throat on the way down. The club was heaving so he wasn't surprised when someone came to sit next to him. At least as it was a muggle club he didn't have to worry about hiding his scar.

He did jump though, when the person beside him nudged him, and he heard Malfoy's flawless upper class voice, "So Harry, how have you been?" _How could someone saying his name send a shiver down his back?_

"Erm, fine, erm, and you?"

"Well you haven't seemed fine. Have I upset you in anyway? I'm really sorry if I have." Draco, naturally, was drinking some clear liquid with an olive in it. He fiddled idly with the stem of the cocktail glass and shot Harry a look from underneath his long lashes.

"No…it wasn't you, it was the others. I guess you've been…collateral damage. I'm sorry for ignoring you."

"I'm really glad you aren't pissed off with me, Harry." Draco patted Harry's hand gently, touching him for only slightly longer than normal, but Harry felt a surge of electricity run up his arm. He couldn't help but shake a little. Unluckily Malfoy looked concerned and pressed his hand again and this time holding it there. "Are you sure you're okay? I've been worried about you."

Harry fought the urge to moan as the quivery feeling ran around his body. How could this simple contact get him so agitated? "I'm, erm, okay, erm, yeah thanks. I'm just feeling a bit, erm, hot, yes, I'm really too hot. I need to get out of here." He downed his whisky, jumped up, and bolted for the exit.

Unfortunately, the Malfoys were obviously bred for speed, as well as beauty, because Draco caught up with him just as he reached the door. "Look, you don't seem at all well, I'm going to get you home. You're in no state to Apparate, you'll splinch yourself. Let me take you." He looped his arm round Harry's waist and dragged him down into a side alley. "If anyone sees us they'll just think we went off for a quick fuck." Harry's cheeks burned but he let Malfoy manhandle him until they were out of sight. Draco pulled him in tight and they Disapparated.

-o-o-o-o-

 

A/N (1): The song the cheerleading witches are singing is based on ‘Oh Mickey’ by Toni Basil. I’m sure you can find the video on YouTube. I can’t apologise enough for all the 80s nights I went to at university, and I used to sing, ‘Oh Ricky’ after the boy I fancied at the time.

A/N (2): a quarter sized bottle of whisky in the UK is 187.5ml or 7.5 units/shots. Doctors advise not to drink more than 3-4 units a day.

 

 


	4. A Real Dark Night Of The Soul

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry, Draco and Ron are Aurors. Draco has saved Ron's life, so everyone, including the Weasley Clan adore him. Harry is jealous.
> 
> I wanted to write something where the angst in a story came from something other than Ron hating gays and hating Draco. Lousy mental health REALLY sucks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: J K Rowling is a god of fantasy fiction. I don’t own anything, except my laptop, so please don’t take it away from me. If I owned the boys they’d basically never get out of bed and they’d let me watch.
> 
> This was written in 2013, when I was in hospital a couple of times, and then recuperating for several months. I wrote chunks of this when I was feeling well enough. It was beta-ed and published on FF.net I have fiddled with the odd sentence since, so please don't blame my old betas, neither of whom are still writing. Thanks again Sophie_French, you were amazing.
> 
> Warnings: Bloody awful mental health. Panic Attacks. Intrusive thoughts. Swearing. Alcohol abuse. More Swearing. If you are homophobic and/or don’t like boys doing stuff with other boys then why are you reading this? Trigger warning for really shocking mental health, and yes, I have been through an experience just like this, though mine was as a reaction to some (prescribed) medication. One of my old betas thought that Harry needed hitting on the head with a broom but if you are going through something like this, it is terribly lonely. Please please please ask for help.
> 
> Any non-Canon characters are named for various science fiction writers from the 1950s onwards.

** None But The Brave Deserves The Fair – Chapter 4: A Real Dark Night Of The Soul  
**

The wards at Harry's flat were already set to accept Malfoy so he took them right inside. But the graceful aristocrat either missed his footing or it was a carefully planned manoeuvre, because they tumbled on to the sofa together. Harry landed on a report he'd been proof-reading earlier and Draco landed on top of him.

Whatever Harry had anticipated for Michael Corner’s drunken stag night, he had not expected to wind up with the blond of his dreams elegantly sprawled over him. It was something he might have fantasised about but he had never expected it to actually happen. He could feel Draco's warm breath on his face, his body pressed to Harry's and he knew he was instantly hard. He couldn't speak, couldn't move, didn't want to.

Any second now, Malfoy would smirk and pull himself up, make some wise crack about the strength of the cocktails in the Tiergarten and the moment would be over. Or he would come out with some snide comment about Harry's obvious arousal and then leave. Or he would laugh and point and Harry would have to Avada Kedavra him.

What did happen next knocked him for six. Draco reached out with his left hand and gently stroked the side of Harry's face. Then he pressed his soft pink lips to Harry's and gave him gentlest kiss in the history of the world.

Harry was frozen with shock and desire, fear and excitement.

As Harry hadn't pushed him away or thumped him, Draco appeared to take this as encouragement. He kissed Harry again; this time with a little more pressure and he slid the fingers of his right hand into Harry's messy hair. Harry gasped; he hadn't realised until now that his scalp was an erogenous zone. He could feel a tingling wave sweep around his body.

He kissed Draco back, wriggling his arm out so he could touch the fair-haired man too. He ran his hand across Draco's upper back. They had gone out in smart Muggle clothes and the blond's shirt was silk, a dark green, almost black. It felt smooth under Harry's fingers and he marvelled at the feelings coursing through him. This was better than finding out he was a wizard, better than his first broom flight, better than winning the House Cup in their first year, better than chocolate.

Draco broke the kiss and Harry's heart stopped. But then the gorgeous man above him groaned, "Oh Harry, if you knew how long I've wanted this!" and his heart started again.

"Me too!" he whispered, "since Oishii."

Draco snorted, and how on earth did he manage to make that sound sexy? "Since Oishii? Try since Hogwarts!"

"Hogwarts! But you spent most of the time trying to get me into trouble?"

"I spent most of the time trying to get you to notice me." Draco corrected him mildly. He kissed Harry's mouth. "I never thought I had a chance. You were the bloody Boy-Who-Lived." He kissed Harry's scar. "And Quidditch God." He kissed Harry's mouth. "And Tri-Wizard Champion." Kiss. "And then you discovered girls! First there was Cho sodding Chang **,** and then the Weaslette **,** and then you disappeared for months **,** and I thought you'd eloped with Granger."

"Hermione! No, never, it's always been her and Ron." Draco grinned and kissed Harry.

"Yeah, well I know that now. And I've heard enough hints about your dangerous quest to know that you weren't shagging either of them." Kiss. "Then you saved me from the Fiendfyre and I knew that was that, I'd never get you out of my head. I owed you a Life Debt." He kissed Harry again. "Then when I started eighth year, we were disgraced but you were so noble and acknowledged me in front of everyone. You finally shook my hand; I didn't want to mess it up. So I just kept quiet and stayed out of your way." Kiss.

"And then you were going to be an Auror and I decided if I _had_ to earn my living there were worse ways." Kiss. "And at least I could still see you." Kiss. "And then we all became friends." Kiss. "Which was marvellous. I'd wanted to be your friend since I was eleven." Kiss. "But I fancied you so much." Kiss. "All those drunken nights when I had to sit on my hands to prevent myself from groping you."

Harry laughed, "I used to watch you sleep on my sofa and yearn for you." Kiss. "I wanted to run my fingers through your hair." Kiss. "Seeing you eat sushi made me all hot and bothered." Kiss.

He shifted slightly and suddenly realised he could feel something pressing into his thigh. Something big and long and hard. _Oh shit, this is_ really _scary!_

Then Draco wrecked Harry's mood completely. "So do you want to lie on the sofa all night and snog or do you want to move this to the bedroom?" His eyes shone in the moonlight and his pupils were huge, so dilated there was just a sliver of silver grey around the edges.

Harry froze again. He dropped his eyes from Draco's. He couldn't move this to the bedroom. He didn't know what to do in the bedroom. And Draco had so much experience and would mock him. His heart ached. Draco would go and Harry would have to emigrate to get away from the shame of everyone knowing he was still a virgin. And he would never love anyone again and he would die alone.

"Harry?"

…

 

"We don't have to rush things if you don't want to."

 

…

 

"Harry? Talk to me."

 

…

 

"We can go as slow as you want."

 

…

 

"Please?"

 

…

 

Harry still couldn't look at him. Draco hauled himself off Harry and on to the floor by the sofa, where he knelt. He stroked Harry's hair.

"Please? I've waited for you for so long. Please don't let me have ruined this. I'm so sorry."

 

…

 

"We don't have to _do_ anything!"

 

…

 

"We can just kiss some more."

 

…

 

"Please?"

 

…

 

"Can I just hold you?”

 

…

 

"Please?"

 

…

 

 

"Do you want me to go?"

 

…

 

"Harry?"

 

…

 

"Please?"

 

…

 

"Okay, I'll go. I'm so, so sorry."

 

…

 

Draco Disapparated.

-o-o-o-o-

The rest of the weekend was hell. He warded his flat tighter than Gringotts. Harry couldn’t stop shaking. He wanted to throw up and his thoughts went round and round in his head until he was deafened by them. All his friends, all the aurors, everyone in Hogwarts, all the Ministry and the entire Wizarding World knew about how fucking useless he was and they were all laughing at him.

Draco floo-called three times on Saturday and twice on Sunday. Harry wouldn't take the calls. Oz tried once, Ron called twice and Hermione four times and he wouldn't speak to them either. And the owls! The tapping on the windows drove him mad. Harry had to raise the wards to make sure none got through. He wouldn't let anyone Apparate in and when Hermione started banging on the door he cast a Silencio so he didn't have to listen to her.

Harry had made it to the off licence where he bought so much alcohol the Muggle shopkeeper asked if he was throwing a party. He started on the first bottle of whisky and didn't stop.

He rampaged round his flat smashing things. He couldn't go to work. He couldn't see Draco again. He couldn't see anyone. How could he explain this? He should just leave the country; go somewhere where no one knew him or his sodding scar.

Why couldn't he have just died in the Forbidden Forest? Why couldn't he have croaked from a Quidditch injury? Couldn't Voldemort have killed him properly as a baby? He should have stayed in the imaginary King's Cross with Dumbledore. Anything would be better than this. He wanted to die. He couldn't see anyone or deal with anything. He had never expected to have survived Voldemort, if he had thought he would things might have been different.

If he could just have screwed Ginny in sixth year and got it over with; although **,** of course **,** then Ron would have strangled him, so it would have been a moot point. He should have gone to a prostitute when he left Hogwarts. How incompetent were the fucking Death Eaters that they couldn't even kill a teenage boy. A Dementor's bloody Kiss would be better than this. He cursed his friends for interfering. He cursed himself more.

On Sunday he woke with a killer hangover but he breakfasted on the hair of the dog and more whisky was lunch as well as dinner and some snacks in between. And still nothing could stop his racing thoughts. This was worse than wearing Slytherin’s locket. More soul destroying than the Dementors. The Horcrux might as well still be within him.

By the time it got to Sunday night he had exhausted all the scenarios and himself too.

By Monday his head throbbed but his heart hurt more. He floo-called in sick. Harry knew he looked like death so he hoped Ballard would buy the story that he had 'flu. Ballard looked curious but accepted it.

The week was awful. He drank a lot more whisky. When he was awake he wished he was asleep but when he did sleep the nightmares were horrifying. Voldemort was still alive with a million billion Horcruxes. Draco burning to death in the Room of Requirement. Hermione tortured and killed over and over again by Bellatrix Lestrange. Ron storming off during the Horcrux hunt and being killed by Death Eaters. Everyone he loved and cared for being punished because they were his friends. He would wake up trembling in wet sheets in the darkened room and long for the morning.

By the end of the week he was decided. He would resign from the Aurors. He would go and live with Muggles and get a job as a gardener or something. He'd done enough pruning for Aunt Petunia over the years. He knew his way around a garden shed.

-o-o-o-o-

Harry sent off an owl to Ballard with his resignation letter. He wrote that he was sorry that he could no longer be an Auror but there were personal reasons and he couldn't talk about them. He was sorry to let everyone down but he needed to leave.

He contacted the estate agent and paid up the rest of his lease.

He wrote and re-wrote letters to Ron and Hermione but none was quite right and he tore them up.

He kept hearing Oz's voice, "I thought you were supposed to be a brave Gryffindor, where's all your courage gone?"

-o-o-o-o-

(Monday morning)

Harry finished packing. He didn't have that many possessions and he'd smashed a lot of stuff in the last week anyway. He had Transfigured his appearance, just enough to lighten his hair a little, remove his scar and darken his eyes to brown.

He had settled on Yorkshire. It sounded like it would suit his mood. He'd never been there but some of the Muggleborn Hogwarts girls had raved about a romantic tragedy set there with a moody and brooding dark-haired protagonist, raging around because he couldn't have the one he loved. Withering Depths or something. He shrank the trunk and picked it up.

He opened the door and stepped out of the flat…and ran straight into Oz.

"Is Harry in?" Bulmer looked apprehensive.

"Harry who?" Harry didn't need to alter his voice; he knew he wasn't normally that squeaky. "I live here now. I'm just going out and I'm in a rush." He hurried past Oz and down the stairs.

He headed for the Muggle underground. By coincidence he would be leaving London from King's Cross, though the train would undoubtedly not be leaving from platform 9 and ¾. At the tube station he saw Ron and was about to run away when he remembered he was Transfigured. He ignored Ron and sauntered by.

At King's Cross he had arrived far too early and had to hang around for his train. They had certainly smartened the place up since his Hogwarts days. The ceiling was amazing. And there were loads of new shops and places to eat. He saw a sushi place and faltered, but went on to get a snack somewhere else. He ordered some food and sat down to people-watch while it was cooked.

People dashed around, carrying cases of every colour and size. Couples kissing goodbye. Children running around. Everyone watched the big electronic noticeboards, announcing departures and arrivals. A small girl was playing on her own near the escalators; she looked up and smiled at Harry. He smiled back. She was perhaps eight or a bit younger. He couldn't see anyone watching her, but she'd be upset if she was lost so she was probably fine.

His shepherd's pie arrived and he tucked in. He knew he hadn't been eating properly, and had been drinking far too much, but this was to be a New Beginning so he would eat from now on. It was actually quite nice and he wolfed it down. In fact, it took him a minute or so to realise that the child had approached him. She was a pretty little thing, with hazel eyes and blonde curly hair.

"Scuse me, mister, you dropped this." She held up a galleon. Harry hesitated, patting his pockets. He thought he'd changed all his money into Muggle currency but he must have missed one coin.

"No, you keep it, sweetheart. It's just foreign money, from South America **.** " he improvised.

She shook her head, "No, I'm not allowed to keep money I find in the street, my Mum says it's bad." Harry chuckled and held out his hand. She smiled a massive grin and placed the galleon into his hand. He felt the familiar pull somewhere behind his tummy button as the Portkey activated.

-o-o-o-o-

Harry _hated_ Portkey travel. The shepherd's pie had gone down very well, thank you, and he didn't like the fact that it was threatening to come back up. He really didn't want to open his eyes, but he knew he had to eventually. When he did he promptly shut them again.

"Accio Harry's wand. Incarcerous!" Harry felt the bonds wrap around him, tying him to the chair. "Harry James Potter, what the bloody fucking _fuck_ do you think you're doing?!?" Hermione didn't normally swear, but by the sound of it, swearing was something else Hermione Granger would get a sodding Outstanding at. "Do you have even the tiniest clue how worried everyone's been about you? You have been acting like a total fuckwit!"

There was a rush of air and Harry opened his eyes again. The little girl from King's Cross had appeared, with Harry's shrunken trunk. One Finite Incantatem later and Oz reappeared, grinning at Harry.

"How did you know where I was?" Harry muttered.

"C'mon, mate, you know the Ministry have tracking charms on all their staff, in case of kidnapping. We knew you were in your flat. There's been someone watching the door. Then when you left, it was easy enough to follow you." Ron looked stressed but resigned.

"Now listen, you _have_ to tell us what the fucking hell is going on! We have been friends for more than _ten_ years, Harry. You _can't_ just decide to leave your job and cut everyone off and move to _Yorkshire_ without even a letter or a floo call. Do you realise how much we love and care about you? If you are upset, you need to sodding well _talk_ to someone!"

" _No_! I _don't_ want to talk about it! I just want you all to leave me _alone_!"

"Harry, you know that isn't going to happen. You know I am perfectly capable of keeping you tied to this chair until you tell me what is going on in your warped mind."

Harry shook his head. "You can keep me here as long as you want. I'm not saying anything. Remember I'm a trained Auror. I can resist interrogation."

"Fine!" Hermione snapped. "Get it, Ron. Oz, tip his head back and get his mouth open. Petrificus Totalus!" Harry sensed rather than felt the Veritaserum land on his tongue. "Finite Incantatem." He felt the petrification spell disappear. "Now Harry you have a choice, you can talk to me, or Ron, or Oz, or we have a Mind Healer from St Mungo's next door. Or you can choose someone else. If you don't choose we will all ask you questions. Who do you want to speak to?"

"None of you. Fuck OFF.”  
  
“Harry”, Hermione warned.

“FINE! You. Hermione."

"Alright, Ron, Oz, please go next door…Muffliato... Now Harry, please, when did this begin?"

Harry had some training on fighting the effects of Veritaserum. _If the question is too vague you don't have to answer it._ He stayed silent.

Hermione made a tsk-ing sound. "Harry, I know Oz spoke to you in the Auror office about your feelings for Draco. Is your recent behaviour about Draco?"

Direct question. _If it is a direct question stay monosyllabic if possible._ "Yes."

"Why?"

_If it's not a direct question you don't have to answer it or you can obfuscate._ "He kissed me."

"And Draco kissing you freaked you out so much you decided to leave your job, abandon your friends and move to Yorkshire?"

"No. Yes. No"

"Then what disturbed you?"

_If you can't use monosyllables, use as few words as possible._ "He wanted to go to bed with me."

Hermione's eyebrows almost collided with her bushy hairline. "Do you fancy Draco?"

"Yes."

"Do you love Draco?"

"Yes." Bloody hell, he hadn't realised that!

"Then why were you upset that he wanted to go to bed with you?"

Bugger. Direct question. He couldn't avoid this. "Because he'll laugh at me!"

Hermione's puzzlement was obvious, "Why would Draco, who fancies you and kissed you and wants to take you to bed, laugh at you if you do go to bed with him?"

Fuck. Direct question. He had to answer this. "Because I'm a sodding _virgin_!"

"And why would that bother him? He really likes you."

"I've never got beyond second base."

Hermione smiled. "So do you want to get to fourth?"

"Yes!"

"So why would Draco laugh at you. I sure he wants to get you there as well!"

"Orgies."

"WHAT? He wants you to go to an orgy! I'll kill him!"

"No no. He went to orgies at Hogwarts!"

"Really! When did he tell you that?"

"He didn't tell me."

"Harry, who told you he went to orgies at Hogwarts?"

"No one told me."

"So how did you find out he went to orgies at Hogwarts?"

"Newspaper."

Hermione threw her head back and howled with laughter until tears ran down her face. Harry looked uncomprehendingly at her. It took a couple of minutes before she was able to speak. "You know he went to orgies at Hogwarts because they wrote that in the Daily Prophet?"

"Yes."

"Harry, when did you start believing what that rag printed? Think about what they wrote about you! And me! And Professor Dumbledore! It was utter bollocks! Just because it wasn't written by Rita Skeeter doesn't mean that it's true!"

"All his exes said so."

"And you've spoken to them all in person, with the use of Veritaserum, and you know they didn't make up or exaggerate anything?!? And they definitely weren't being paid for what they did say?"

Harry mumbled.

"What?"

"No."

"No what?"

"No I didn't speak to them in person."

"So all your evidence for Draco's previous behaviour is based exclusively on what you read in the Prophet?"

"Yes."

"Harry Potter, you are an utter pillock! How the hell did they ever accept you as an Auror? The next time they print a dictionary, under gullible there will be a picture of you!"

"They don't put pictures in a dictionary."

Hermione laughed, "I’m supposed to be the smart arse! Now listen, Harry, we have to do something about this. I've known about Draco liking you for ages. You don't really think all we discussed was 'Hogwarts: A History'? And it's obvious you've fancied him for years."

"Since Auror Training."

"Yes I thought as much. So you need to talk to him."

"But I can't talk to him. He'll laugh at me."

"Of course he won't bloody well laugh at you. If he even smiles I'll hex him so hard he won't be able to move for weeks."

"I can't, I just can't, Hermione. Look I'm sorry I've upset you and Ron and Oz. But I can't face Draco, I just can't."

Hermione snorted, "Harry, you stood up to Voldemort! You saved the wizarding world. You have so much courage. You have spent your life being fearless. You fought a bloody _dragon_! If you can do this you can have the man you love. You need to be brave and you can do this."

Harry managed a wavering half-smile, "That's what Oz said, 'I thought you were supposed to be a brave Gryffindor, where's all your courage gone?'"

"Well, he's absolutely right. And you need to do this soon. It's Ginny's wedding in five days' time and you are going to be there, if I have to keep you tied to the chair in the meantime."

Harry groaned. "Do you have any Felix Felicis to go along with that Veritaserum?"

Hermione looked mystified. “Why do you want liquid luck?”

“So I don’t _fuck_ this up any more than I already have done!”

Hermione looked thoughtful, "I'll see what I can do."

-o-o-o-o-

Harry had to swear an Unbreakable Vow not to run away again, or even step unescorted outside Ron and Hermione's flat, before the others would even let him go to the loo. His wand and invisibility cloak had been confiscated. He lounged around in the spare room reading Ron's Quidditch magazines. Ron brought him some pizza and Hermione brought Harry a small glass of some golden fluid.

"Here's something to give you courage and luck, I don't think you really need it, though."

Harry shot her a look and she smiled. "You aren't trying the trick I played on Ron, are you? Remember I've had it before so I'll know if it's not the real thing."

Hermione's eyes opened very wide, "Would I lie to you, Harry?"

"Hmmmm!"

"Well you try it and see if it's real or not. He'll be round in an hour."

"They aren't going to shag in our spare bed, are they?" Ron grumbled. "If you do, mate, for Merlin's sake put up a Silencing Charm and use a Cleansing one afterwards! _Ouch_! Hermione, why did you hit me?!"

-o-o-o-o-

Harry had a shower and got changed into a sweatshirt with no stains on the front, and black jeans that _apparently_ flattered his arse. As seven o'clock approached, his nerves were in tatters though. He didn't want to waste the Felix Felicis by taking it too early and he still wasn't convinced Hermione hadn't given him something else anyway.

He didn't have a clue how to talk to Draco. Hell, he didn't even know if he could look Draco in the eye. He knew if Draco made any sexual innuendo, or even smirked, he would turn tail and flee. He would have to avoid using any form of the verb 'to come'… It didn't help that he didn't really know what he wanted. But Ron had a point. He didn't really want to lose his virginity in their spare bed, no matter how good it might turn out to be. He didn't think he would ever be able to look his best friends in the face afterwards. Given the chance though, he definitely did want to kiss Draco again, preferably a lot.

Hermione knocked on the door. "Harry, it's 6.45. We'll let him in and then go to the Burrow for the evening. Good luck."

"Bye, mate," Ron's voice called out, "don't break the bed will you?"

" _Fuck off, Ron_!" Harry yelled, but Ron just sniggered.

-o-o-o-o-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N (1): The romantic tragedy, set in Yorkshire, with a moody and brooding dark-haired protagonist, is 'Wuthering Heights' by Emily Bronte. SERIOUS ANGST WARNING.
> 
> A/N (2): Yes I know that at the time this story was set King's Cross station still looked like a shithole at the back of beyond, and it wasn't refurbished until the 2012 London Olympics, but I needed there to be somewhere Harry could sit and wait for a meal and there was nowhere in the old King's Cross. This is the new roof and I do think it looks amazing. https://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/thumb/a/a9/King%27s_Cross_Western_Concourse_-_central_position_-_2012-05-02.75.jpg/300px-King%27s_Cross_Western_Concourse_-_central_position_-_2012-05-02.75.jpg


	5. Don't Forget To Breathe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry, Draco and Ron are Aurors. Draco has saved Ron's life, so everyone, including the Weasley Clan adore him. Harry is jealous.
> 
> I wanted to write something where the angst in a story came from something other than Ron hating gays and hating Draco. Lousy mental health REALLY sucks and it can fuck with your life in ways you can't imagine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: J K Rowling is a god of fantasy fiction. I don’t own anything, except my laptop, so please don’t take it away from me. If I owned the boys they’d basically never get out of bed and they’d let me watch.
> 
> This was written in 2013, when I was in hospital a couple of times, and then recuperating for several months. I wrote chunks of this when I was feeling well enough. It was beta-ed and published on FF.net I have fiddled with some of the sentence since, so please don't blame my old betas, neither of whom are still writing. Thanks again Sophie_French, you were amazing.
> 
> Warnings: Bloody awful mental health. Panic Attacks. Intrusive thoughts. Swearing. Strong sexual references. If you are homophobic and/or don’t like boys doing stuff with other boys then why are you reading this? Trigger warning for really shocking mental health, and yes, I have been through an experience just like this, though mine was as a reaction to some (prescribed) medication. One of my old betas thought that Harry needed hitting on the head with a broom but if you are going through something like this, it is terribly lonely. Please please please ask for help.
> 
> The breathing exercises are repetitive but welcome to the joys of dealing with panic attacks! This chapter is much longer than I intended it to be but our boys have a lot to discuss.
> 
> Any non-Canon characters are named for various science fiction writers from the 1950s onwards.

-o-o-o-o-

  **None But The Brave Deserves The Fair – Chapter 5: Don't Forget To Breathe**

Harry was shaking. The thoughts were threatening to overcome him yet again. He shut his eyes. He took some deep breaths. Breathe. In one two three four five, hold it one two three four five, out one two three four five. And repeat.

Hermione had told him about seeing a counsellor after the war. A Squib Mind Healer who used Muggle methods, Freyja Leiber. She had really helped Hermione, and Harry had his first appointment with her tomorrow at ten o'clock. He had taken a second Unbreakable Vow to Hermione to see Healer Leiber at least three times.

She had worked with Hermione a lot, and Hermione had shared some of the techniques with Harry. The breathing. In one two three four five, hold it one two three four five, out one two three four five. And repeat.

Also visualising. She said to imagine a desert island and a golden beach, with swaying palm trees. A warm sunny day. To think of blue waves gently lapping the shore line. It was bloody difficult! _The_ _constant ebb and flow of the sea_ and he was suddenly back at the beach by Shell Cottage, Dobby was dead, the war was raging, they were hunting Horcruxes…

No this was NOT relaxing. Think of a foreign beach, hot sand, blazing sun, clear water…but he’d never seen this kind of beach. The Dursleys visited Southwick Beach, in nearby Sussex but that was a shingle beach; plus it usually rained. And he had often been locked in the car for misbehaviour of some sort or other, or even left in Privet Drive.  Maybe one day he’d actually get to see a real tropical beach with palm trees. Maybe with Dra… no! Breathe. In one two three four five, hold it one two three four five, out one two three four five. And repeat.

He swallowed the little golden glassful, soon feeling that long remembered sensation of infinite opportunity. He could do this. It would be fine. He liked Draco. Draco liked him. It would be okay. It was the kind of confidence he normally got from alcohol, though with a considerably smaller chance of waking up tomorrow with a traffic cone and no shoes.

He heard someone knock on the front door and a murmur of voices; then the door closed with presumably Ron and Hermione on the wrong side and Draco on his side. _'Yes_ ' Harry thought ' _Draco will be on my side'_. It was a nice feeling, warm and comforting.

He took another deep breath. Breathe. In one two three four five, hold it one two three four five, out one two three four five. And repeat. He opened the spare bedroom door. Draco was still at the other end of the hall, hanging up his cloak. He wore a dark cashmere jumper and immaculately pressed jeans – Malfoys really didn't do casual! He turned to face Harry and his smile was stunning, not lust-filled or intimidating or smirking.

Harry took a step towards him and then faltered, but Draco made up the distance between them. He didn't hesitate, taking Harry's hand in both of his. "Harry, it's really good to see you." And there was that smile again.

Breathe Harry! In one two three four five, hold it one two three four five, out one two three four five. And repeat. Harry remembered his manners, "It's good to see you too, Draco, thank you for, erm, visiting me here. Would you like a drink?"

"Some tea would be lovely, thank you. Hermione has my favourite type in the cupboard. It's a rooibos." He gently let Harry's hand go and Harry moved like an automaton towards the kitchen. He still didn't have his wand but he knew there was an electric kettle, used mainly when the Grangers or one of Hermione's childhood friends visited. He made Draco's tea and some camomile for himself - he didn't need anything more stimulating with the Felix Felicis flooding his system. He was still so het up, and he remembered Aunt Petunia swearing by camomile tea for stress.

"Sit down, Harry." Draco's voice was soothing. He obeyed. He wrapped his hands round the hot mug for protection. Draco reached across the table and stroked his hand very softly, like he was comforting a crying child or a frightened animal, "How are you doing, Harry?"

Breathe. In one two three four five, hold it one two three four five, out one two three four five. And repeat. Harry shrugged. "I really don't know how to answer that."

Draco smiled, "Yes or no questions then?"

"Yes, please."

"Are you going to Crucio any of us when you get your wand back?"

"Yes. No. I'm not sure yet."

"Well I suppose that's probably the best answer I could expect to that one. Were you nervous about seeing me?"

"Yes."

"Are you still nervous?"

"Yes."

"I'm not going to hurt you, Harry, you need to know that. The last thing I want is to hurt you."

"Okay."

"Do you believe me?"

Harry sucked in a ragged breath and then exhaled noisily. And again, in one two three four five, hold it one two three four five, out one two three four five. And repeat.  "I don't know…no…I don't think you want to hurt me."

"Good. Hermione has… hinted why you might have been so upset the other night. I am unbelievably sorry for being so crass, thoughtless and insensitive. Can you forgive me?"

"Um…I guess so…yes."

"Good. Well then, yes, I would very much like to go to bed with you but there is no expiry date on it. I've waited for you for a very, very long time. I don't mind waiting longer; as long as it takes, actually. I think you are worth waiting for, Harry, and I'm prepared to wait for you."

Harry couldn't look at Draco. This was all so _intimate_. He knew he was blushing so much he must resemble a Weasley with sunburn. Breathe. In one two three four five, hold it one two three four five, out one two three four five. And repeat.

"So the question is," Draco stretched out his other hand and tilted Harry's chin up so he had to look into Draco's eyes. They were big and grey, sincere and full of tenderness. "Do you want me to wait for you?"

Harry let out another shaky breath. Breathe. In one two three four five, hold it one two three four five, out one two three four five. And repeat. He could have what he wanted. All he had to do was say yes. He shut his eyes because if Malfoy kept bloody well _looking_ at him like that he was going to dissolve into a puddle of hormones.

Draco let go of his chin, but the soft stroking of his hand continued. "Harry? Do you want me to wait?"

His mouth was so dry. He tried to pick up his tea but his hand was trembling so much he had to abandon it. He tried to lick his lips but there was no moisture at all. He tried to breath and count his breathing but he thought he was going to suffocate. He opened his mouth to speak but nothing came out. His body was conspiring against him. Why wasn't the sodding Felix Felicis helping?

"Nod or shake."

Harry nodded slowly, his heart racing at hundred miles a minute.

"Yes." he whispered.

If Draco's earlier smile had been stunning, this one should have been captured by Da Vinci. It lit up his face and he looked a million years away from the ferret-faced, spoilt, pointy, bratty school boy. "Thank you, Harry." He picked up Harry's hand from the table and turned it over, placing a kiss in the centre of Harry's palm.

Harry smiled too, not as widely as Draco, because he was still scared stiff, but it was definitely a smile. "Can you give me a minute, please, I need the loo."

"Are you going to run away again?"

"No, Unbreakable Vow not to."

Draco beamed, "Hermione?" Harry nodded again. "Good! Go and use the loo.

-o-o-o-o-

Harry stuck his whole head under the cold tap and ran it until he had stopped shaking. He gulped mouthfuls of water and rinsed his mouth so it no longer resembled a desert. Malfoy was going to kiss him in a minute and he needed for them to not be permanently stuck together. Breathe. In one two three four five, hold it one two three four five, out one two three four five. And repeat.

He had a terrifying vision of coming back into the kitchen to find a naked blond, fisting his greased ten inch monster with an evil glint in his eye, but Draco had promised to wait until he was ready and Harry had to trust him, or what would be the bloody point?

Breathe. In one two three four five, hold it one two three four five, out one two three four five. And repeat.

He realised by now that the golden liquid Hermione had given him couldn't possibly have been genuine, so it was all up to him. He'd have to get that lying cow back later! He dried his hair with a towel, ran his fingers through it to try to tame it, looked at the mirror in despair, gave up on his hair, sighed, and unlocked the door.

Back in the kitchen, Draco was mercifully still clothed, and investigating the kettle. "These Muggle devices are so ingenious, aren't they? I mean, magic is the best thing ever but these are such a clever substitute. Arthur told me they have tiny little things flowing inside them really fast to make them go. How do they get the little things to go fast? What happened if some of them stop? It's fascinating." Harry's memory of primary school science lessons was faint but it was nice that Malfoy was taking an interest in Muggle things, considering he had been brought up to despise them as inferior.

"I, well Hermione actually, can probably get you a book?" he offered, sitting down again. Draco came and sat opposite him.

"Yes that would be interesting, thank you." They chatted for a few minutes aimlessly. Draco's flat in Wimbledon was rented from a wizarding estate agent so electricity wasn't even installed. Harry had been there, of course, but he had usually been drunk and hadn't really noticed.

"So, Harry, I realise I have been terribly rude, asking you all sorts of personal things. Hermione thought you might want to ask me some questions, as well."

Harry blushed again. Breathe. In one two three four five, hold it one two three four five, out one two three four five. And repeat. He took a sip of his, now cold, tea. "Honestly, Harry, you can ask me anything. My life history is an open book, and at your disposal." Harry racked his brains. He needed to ask something innocuous.

"Did you know I saw visions of Voldemort forcing you to… erm… do his bidding?" _Shit! How was that innocuous?!? Harry you are such a fuckwit!_ Breathe. In one two three four five, hold it one two three four five, out one two three four five. And repeat.

Only Draco's innate good breeding could have kept his face so still. "No, Harry, I didn't know that. Is that all you saw?"

"No, I had a connection to _him_ , through my scar, you know. I didn't see things all the time. Snape's lessons helped with it a bit but I still saw stuff." He fell silent.

 _Breathe Harry, breathe._ In one two three four five, hold it one two three four five, out one two three four five. And repeat."Did you want to have a brother or sister?"

Draco smiled wistfully. "Oh yes! Quidditch practices would have been such fun. I was always a bit envious of Ron having such a big family, even though I was taught to mock the Weasleys 'for having more children than they could afford'. And I wouldn't have been so lonely growing up. Malfoy Manor is… was a big place, and it was always so quiet. My father was very strict about noise. And my mother was fanatical about manners."

"Manners?!? Like saying please and thank you?"

"Etiquette. Table manners: which knife and fork to use, when and which wine to serve with fish or game, and how to greet people and make them feel welcome if they were worthy, or snub them if they weren't. Pureblood traditions; actually, one of the Malfoy traditions is only to have one child per generation so as not to split the estate. Not that we have an estate to split anymore, I mean, so it wouldn't have…" he trailed off.

"I'm sorry." It was Harry's turn to pat Draco's hand in sympathy. Draco put his other hand on top of Harry's, trapping it.

"I don't miss it that much really. I miss the space and the luxury, and I miss the gardens. Not the peacocks, they were bloody irritating. I miss the flowers. They were exquisite. It was my mother's other passion. She loves flowers. That's why she chose the Lake District: 'A host of golden daffodils' and all that." Harry looked blank. "Pleb!" said Draco, with a trace of his old attitude. "A poet called 'William Wordsworth' wrote it about two hundred years ago. It's a hauntingly beautiful poem. I learned it to recite to my mother one year for her birthday. A narcissus is a type of daffodil."

"Oh, yes, I did know that. My aunt used to make me do the gardening: pruning roses, mowing the lawn, putting manure on everything to make it grow. She was obsessed with weeds; digging them up, I mean. And planting stuff in rows so her garden looked exactly like the neighbours. Everything had to be perfect, nothing out of place or unusual. I suppose, at least, it was fresh air. Anything was better than being, erm, stuck in my room."

Draco looked shocked for a second before the smooth Malfoy mask covered it up. He turned to take something out of the bag he'd brought with him.

"This is for you." Harry looked across and took the scroll of parchment. It was a medical report from St Mungo's, announcing Draco Malfoy to be 'free from any kind of ailment, malady or infection' and that he was 'sound in mind as well as body'. It had brief details of his prior conditions: childhood illnesses, injuries at work and school, including, Harry saw guiltily, the Sectumsempra wounds, though the curse-caster was not named nor was the curse. Blood pressure. Pulse rate. Height. Weight. Chest, waist and inside leg measurement. All sorts of terms and numbers meaning nothing to him. Even sperm count! "So you can see I don't have any communicable diseases."

Breathe. In one two three four five, hold it one two three four five, out one two three four five. And repeat. Harry stammered his thanks and apologies for subjecting him to tests, but Draco demurred. "They are a standard part of any pureblood marriage contract. One must ensure that one's prospective spouse is healthy," He grinned, adding, "and fertile!"

Harry tried to hand the document back to Draco but he waved it away, "It's yours." he said. Harry rolled it up and put it in his pocket.

"So now, come on, Harry, you haven't asked me any really searching questions yet? Isn't there anything you want to ask me?" Harry hesitated. "No questions on, say, certain pureblood Slytherin customs. Or what my ‘hobbies’ were at Hogwarts?"

Harry went scarlet again. Really, he might as well just dip himself in red paint and have done with it. Breathe. In one two three four five, hold it one two three four five, out one two three four five. And repeat. "Well?"

"I'm going to _murder_ Hermione!" Harry muttered.

"Would you like an aide memoire?" Draco asked smoothly. He pulled a thick folder out of his bag and tossed it on to the table. It fell open at a particularly lurid tale from a wizard, Roderick Serling, a Slytherin in the year above Draco. The photograph showed an attractive dark haired man, winking dazzling blue eyes at the reader with a very saucy smile and very white teeth – reminding Harry of Gilderoy bloody Lockhart. The headline screamed 'Slytherin Stud Had Me Six Times in Christmas Stockings!'"

"You _kept_ the sex cuttings!" Harry was horrified.

" _No_! Of course not you berk! Oz rounded them up for me. I'm sure he enjoyed that, he's a dirty sod! I kept the nice cuttings about my heroic deeds. To pass on to my descendants, you know." He cleared his throat. "So, Roddy kissed me _once_ , under the mistletoe at Christmas in the fifth year. And that was categorically that! Not even tongues; just a peck on the lips. You know he got a thousand galleons for that story and a modelling contract, as well. He models underwear for an owl order home shopping service for housebound wizards." He grinned at Harry, "Next one, please."

Silently Harry took out another cutting. This one was from a big busted blonde witch, Phillipa Kaydick whose photo leered at Harry and jiggled her boobs. She claimed Draco had performed oral sex on her for so long, and with such skill, that she had fainted from the intensity of her orgasms. And she had woken up to find he had invited two wizards to join them and they had filled all three of her openings at once. Breathe. In one two three four five, hold it one two three four five, out one two three four five. And repeat. He looked up at Draco wordlessly.

Draco shrugged. "She was three years below me. I think I spoke to her once or twice, probably to tell her to get out of my way! I understand her father is an alcoholic who bankrupted the family, so I assume that's why she sold a story." He paused, "I have no idea whether she did anything with the other two blokes. The one in the year below me was on our reserve Quidditch team, so I did see him naked… in the showers after practice. The one in the year above me, yuck, he had the most terrible acne. I wouldn't have wanted to touch him without gloves." He shuddered fastidiously. "Another one please, Harry."

Harry rifled through the cuttings. The headlines still made him feel sick. Breathe. In one two three four five, hold it one two three four five, out one two three four five. And repeat. "No," he said, "Just tell me the true bits."

Draco laughed archly, "What and give away all my secrets?" The expression on Harry's face wiped the smile off his face immediately. "Sorry, Harry, forgive me. I need you to be able to trust me completely. I'll tell you whatever you want. Okay?"

"Okay. So if the stories were lies, why didn't you challenge them?"

"Sue the Prophet?"

"Yes, sue the Prophet."

"Well…" Draco sounded hesitant, "Partly because we don't have any money anymore! And partly because it didn't really seem to matter. I mean, the purebloods would understand the stories were exaggerated and consider it to be youthful high-spirits. Do you know how many pureblood marriage proposals I've been sent in the last few months?! I've turned them all down, of course. And I wasn't exactly brought up to care what Half-Bloods or Muggleborn folk thought of me! If I'd known it had upset you so much I would have come down on them like a ton of cauldrons after the first one and made them to print a retraction. But I never really thought I had a chance with you, so I didn't think about how it would affect you. Though I always hoped I might… it was stupid of me."  
  
Harry blushed for the umpteenth time. "What about the Weasleys?"

Draco looked serious, "Well after the first few 'true confessions' were published, Arthur mentioned he'd been seen the last couple of Prophet front pages… and I said 'What a load of rubbish, just fit for lining an owl’s cage!' and he grinned, and it was all fine."

"So, if it was just 'youthful high spirits', how many, erm, people?"

"With how many people have I had penetrative sex? Four. You can have their names if you insist, but I'd rather respect their privacy. All Slytherins. One boy in my year and one girl. One girl in the year above me, she was my first girl. And my first with a boy; he was two years above me, in my fourth year. I was fourteen. It felt weird and uncomfortable, but enjoyable at the same time. The girl was later the same year. The other two both started in fifth year: the boy only twice but the girl quite a few times. I was a bit busy in sixth year to get up to that much, though I did sleep with the girl a few times. And in our eighth year I slept with the boy from my year again, quite a few times. We did try all sorts of things, but nothing orgy like, I can assure you. I don't mind topping or bottoming by the by. They are both enjoyable in their own way. It depends on my mood and my partner. But if you would prefer one or the other exclusively, then your wish is my command."

He made a mock bow to a, yet again, blushing Harry. "And no, I haven't had sex with anyone since we finished Hogwarts. I could have done but I'm a bit picky. And I was… distracted…" He broke off. "Next question, please."

Breathe. In one two three four five, hold it one two three four five, out one two three four five. And repeat. Harry dithered. "Do you like men or women more?"

"Well, for the last few years it's only been you." Harry just looked at him. Draco sighed. "Okay. The Prophet got that bit reasonably accurate. The majority of purebloods are bisexual. We are encouraged to _…_ sow our wild oats in our youth, with contraceptive potions of course, so none of the oats... grow! An illegitimate child might cause inheritance trouble later on. Hogwarts is meant to be a time for purebloods to experiment, find out what we like, negotiate, make connections. But, then, when we marry we stay faithful. Purebloods don't divorce. We mate for life. And yes, it is rare but two wizards can marry and adopt a child as an heir, usually from another pureblood family who have fallen on hard times and already have several children. The child is technically bought, but the donor family know that the child will be very well cared for, and it's an honour to give up a family name to save another pureblood family name from dying out. There are rituals…" he tailed off. "Or surrogacy is fine too." he added, “with the right contracts.”

"And?" Harry prompted. "Men or women?"

Draco chuckled. "The eternal question. I would say I am more attracted to someone's looks and their personality rather than what shape their _bits_ happen to be. With women, I have tended to prefer them dark, with shapely figures, a nice armful. And dark men too, actually. Especially those with raven locks and emerald green eyes. Not too muscly, please, but I have nothing against a nice six-pack." His grey eyes darkened and sparkled. "And a gorgeously touchable arse has got to be an essential!" He looked pointedly at Harry, who found himself blushing for the umpteenth time.

"So you've really only had sex with four people?" Draco looked slightly shifty and blushed for the first time that evening.

"Well, I've had penetrative sex with four people. But there _was_ quite a lot of, er, playing around."

Harry stayed silent. It was an old interrogation trick. _If the suspect is nervous and you question them and they bluster, stay quiet and they'll end up saying more than they mean to._

Draco grumbled, "This is _so_ embarrassing!"

Harry just smiled sweetly.

"Okay. Well, yes, there was a lot of fiddling around. Or mutual masturbation, or oral sex, or whatever you want to call it. Three boys and two girls: just mutual masturbation with two boys and one of the girls, but oral with the other two. The boy gave me my first blowjob, it was incredible!" Draco's eyes glazed over slightly. "And then he taught me to do it to him." He flushed, "I've been told, since, I'm very good."

Breathe. In one two three four five, hold it one two three four five, out one two three four five. And repeat. Harry reddened again, he really had to stop doing it, was there an anti-blushing charm he wondered? Or could there be a potion?

"And I've snogged loads of people. I don't even think I could count - at least twenty. The famous Slytherin 'orgies' were more like normal teenage parties with surreptitious alcohol, cigarettes, and a few joints, with lots of couples snogging. It was only third years upwards; we didn't let the little kids join in… Now, then, let's have your next question."

Harry couldn't think of anything to ask. Then something hit him. "Have you done anything with any of your 'fan club'?"

Draco smirked. "Obviously, a lot of them have kissed me. I've never kissed any of them back, though there have been some cute ones. But," and his eyes connected with Harry's, "I've always thought it's better to wait for sirloin steak, rather than eat a burger now!"

Harry dropped his eyes first. Breathe. In one two three four five, hold it one two three four five, out one two three four five. And repeat. He cleared his throat. "You have a very high opinion of me, Draco, I really don't know why. I drink too much, I don't take care of myself; I used to rush into situations without thinking clearly, but since the War ended I just seem to over-analyse everything. I dither. I can't make a decision. Or I run away. Hermione had to give me Felix Felicis before I would agree to see you tonight."

Draco looked slightly shifty again. Then his impeccable aristocratic countenance was back. "Harry, I admire a lot of things about you: you are smart, handsome and witty. You're a very powerful wizard: when you duel someone, I want to stand and applaud. But, of course, you have flaws, everyone has flaws. Even me, and I'm perfect!" Harry grinned.

"Well you are. You are beautiful, and funny, and clever, and bi-lingual; I'd love to be able to speak another language."

"Thank you. Actually, I speak five languages. Purebloods learn Latin and Ancient Greek from tutors when they are young - it helps with spell-casting. The Gemino Curse variant was in Ancient Greek. And we used to holiday in Tuscany so I speak fluent Italian, caro mio, and French, of course, as the Malfoys were originally French. My parents used to speak it to me when I was little, mon chéri 'Arry."

"Blimey. So what are your faults? Is there anything you can't do?"

Malfoy looked wryly at Harry, "What… like catch the snitch when you are around, or beat Hermione in a test, or protect my parents from the Dark Lord?"

Harry gripped his hand tightly. "I was there that night on the Astronomy Tower; I'd been out on a mission with Dumbledore that evening and had my invisibility cloak on, so you didn't see me. He had been very badly injured, but he still body-bound me so I couldn't interfere. He knew about your task from Snape. He wanted to protect you. I think you were unbelievably brave to not kill Dumbledore." He added quickly, "If you _had_ killed him, you wouldn't be here with me now."

"Thank you. Well, I don't think _He_ actually expected me to do it. I think _He_ expected me to fail so _He_ could punish my family more."

There was a long pause where neither of them said anything. Then Draco's pureblood protocols kicked in again. "Would you like another cup of tea? Hermione said there are some very good chocolate ginger biscuits in the tin. And I can have another play with the kettle!"

Harry snorted and got up to fill the kettle again.

-o-o-o-o-

They talked for a while longer. Harry took lots more deep breaths. The counting trick helped. Nothing else 'heavy' came up. At half past ten Draco said he had to send a Patronus to the Burrow to let Hermione know they hadn't murdered each other.

"What are you going to say?"

"What would you like it to say?"

Harry was indecisive. "Erm, that we've had a nice chat?"

Draco raised an eyebrow, "Nice?! Some of it has been rather heavy going!" He paused, as Harry started to hyperventilate, and touched his hand again. "But it's been wonderful to spend the time with you. Please, can I see you again tomorrow?"

“I have to see this Mind Healer Hermione insists I see in the morning but I’m free for lunch, or coffee in the afternoon, if you can get the time off?”

“How about I take you for a long relaxing lunch and maybe a walk?”

"Don't you have to be at work?"

"Ballard has allowed us Special Leave. He also authorised the Portkey and then the use of Obliviators at Kings Cross when Oz did his little girl routine. Ballard hasn't accepted your resignation, by the way, but you won't know that because the owl couldn't get in to deliver the message. _You_ are our current case, and we aren't taking on anything else until you've been 'solved'."

He grinned at Harry, who looked shamefacedly back. "You don't need to feel guilty. How much holiday do you take? None! How often do you only work European Wizarding Time Directive recommended hours? Never! You're entitled to a break. Anyway, we said that if we couldn't get you back on your feet we'd all resign and then he'd be buggered! Oz'll fill in; Paula's had her arm twisted and Kylie's back from mat leave. Ron'll help too, though he'll probably be stuck at the Burrow with wedding preparations."

Harry looked dismayed. Breathe. In one two three four five, hold it one two three four five, out one two three four five. And repeat. "The wedding! I'd forgotten! How is it all going?"

"It's fine. I was over there the other day. It's going to be excellent. A torrent of redheads are about to flood in from all over the world. But you'll see soon enough, you'll be there." Harry opened his mouth to speak but Draco put his hand over it. "That part is non-negotiable. Or Molly Weasley will be knitting you a shroud. Your demise will be the only acceptable excuse for non-attendance!"

He jumped up. "I'm going to send that Patronus. Can I say that it went as well as it could have done and you will see me tomorrow?"

Harry nodded and smiled.

Draco sent off his eagle Patronus and Ron's by return said they would be back in fifteen minutes. He took the used crockery and cast a Cleansing Charm, then collected up the sordid cuttings and put them back in the folder. He looked at Harry, "What do you want me to do with these?"

Harry's eyes gleamed, "Burn them!"

Draco cast an Incendio and the whole revolting pile went up in puff of dirty yellow smoke. He Evanesco-ed the ash and then washed his hands. He turned back to Harry, "I'm going to get my cloak and then I’ll head home. Please, will you have lunch with me tomorrow? I'll bring something here for us to share."

Breathe. In one two three four five, hold it one two three four five, out one two three four five. And repeat. Harry smiled again. "That would be lovely, thank you."

"One o'clock?"

Harry nodded, "Yes, please."

Draco looked delighted. "Now may I ask you a question, before I take my leave of you? Please, may I kiss you goodnight?"

Breathe. In one two three four five, hold it one two three four five, out one two three four five. And repeat. Harry nodded shyly. Draco came a little closer and he could smell the blond's aftershave – it was sharp and tangy, floral and fruity, and under that he could smell Draco himself – a softer scent. Harry thought that, bizarrely, Draco smelled of hot water. It was quite down-to-earth and reassuring.

Draco's supple lips brushed his cheek in a kiss. Harry automatically turned his mouth to meet the blond's and they kissed softly. It felt amazing. He felt tingly and warm, wanted and needed. He didn't want it to end, but Draco broke it.

"Goodnight, Harry, it's been really marvellous to spend some time with you. I'll see you tomorrow, sleep well."

He Disapparated. Harry stood in the hall for a minute. His lips could still feel the… oh so soft pressure of Draco's. He wrapped his arms round himself happily and went off to get ready for bed. Less than five minutes later he heard them come back.

"Harry, how are you doing?" Hermione knocked on his door.

"I'm okay, just about to go bed."

"Would you like to talk, or would you rather talk in the morning, before your appointment?"

"Morning, please, I'm really tired."

"That's fine. Everyone sends their love. Goodnight, Harry."

"Night Hermione, night Ron."

-o-o-o-o-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N (1): ‘het up’ is a British-ism, meaning ‘worked up emotionally by anger or excitement’.
> 
> A/N (2): ‘pleb’ is short for ‘plebeian’, meaning a common or working-class person. It’s what an aristocrat would call someone he considers to be below him. Draco is using it as a joke. There was a big scandal a few years ago in Britain where a privately educated politician allegedly called an ordinary policeman a 'pleb'.
> 
> A/N (3): there is a real European Working Time Directive, which states no employee can be asked to work more than 48 hours in any 7 day period. Although the directive applies to all member states, in the United Kingdom, it is possible to opt out of the 48 hour working week and work longer hours. Thanks to Wikipedia for the wording.
> 
> A/N (4): The poem referenced is 'I Wandered Lonely as a Cloud' (also commonly known as 'Daffodils') by William Wordsworth


	6. Adventures in Babysitting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Premise: Harry, Draco and Ron are Aurors. Draco has saved Ron's life, so everyone, including the Weasley Clan adore him. Harry is jealous. I wanted to write something where the angst in a story came from something other than Ron hating gays and hating Draco.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: J K Rowling is a god of fantasy fiction. I don't own anything, except my laptop, so please don't take it away from me. If I owned the boys they'd basically never get out of bed and they'd let me watch.
> 
> I am not going to make this a ‘Harry goes to a Mind Healer and everything is sorted after one session’ fic. Harry has had a fucked up life and no one can possibly wave a wand and for him to be okay. However, neither do I want to write many chapters of counselling sessions. I have been to a lot myself, but I don’t know the theory. 
> 
> Warnings: Slash HPDM. OK, kids, this is where the clothes start to come off. If you are underage, or of a nervous disposition, please turn back now. EWE. Dodgy Mental Health. Swearing. British-isms. Literary quotes. More Swearing. Sarcasm/Dry British black humour. If you are homophobic and/or don't like boys doing stuff with other boys then why are you reading this?
> 
> Any non-Canon characters are named for various science fiction writers from the 1950s onwards.
> 
> Any non-canon spells are in my pigeon Italian. I may be British but I didn't go to the kind of school where we learned Latin, OK!

-o-o-o-o-

**None But The Brave Deserves The Fair – Chapter 6: Adventures in Babysitting **

(Tuesday morning)

Harry woke up ten hours later. He had gone straight to sleep, no whisky needed. That was new. He hadn't had nightmares. That was new too. He got up and put on the clothes he’d worn yesterday. He'd get dressed properly before Draco arrived; there would be a smaller chance of spilling anything down himself, and so he might actually look presentable. The damned healer could take him as he was.

He went into the kitchen and made himself some toast with the Muggle toaster, helping himself to the vast collection of Molly Weasley's homemade spreads, jams, jellies, and marmalades in the pantry. Hermione came to join him.

"Good morning, Harry. How are you today?"

"Morning. I slept very well, thank you."

"So…?" Hermione sat with an expectant look on her face.

"You'd better not give me my wand back any time soon."

She looked mystified, "Why?"

"Because as soon as you do I am going to hex you into next week! Whatever you gave me wasn't Felix Felicis!!!"

"Of course it wasn't! I may be a rising star for the Ministry but I don't have access to the potion stores with a few hours' notice, and I certainly don't have the authority to get hold of a potion that takes six months to brew because a friend of mine has been a right bloody idiot! It was tricky enough getting hold of the Veritaserum. You had a Calming Draught with a couple of extra bits and pieces. It got you through, didn't it? You just needed an initial push."

Harry fumed. "It nearly didn't! At one point my entire body stopped functioning: I couldn't speak, think or move."

"But you were okay. You talked to him."

Harry frowned. Breathe. In one two three four five, hold it one two three four five, out one two three four five. And repeat. "What did he tell you?"

"He didn't say anything" Hermione said quickly, clearly worried Harry would bolt again. "He sent the Patronus when he was with you and that was it. Whatever happens now is between you and him. Unless you try to run off again, in which case we will track you down and this process will repeat until you give in!" She finished her speech with a stern look showing she was very serious.

"So, did you talk to him?"

"Yes," Harry admitted, "it was uncomfortable, but we cleared up a lot of the things I was worried about; in fact, almost all of them."

"And you are seeing him today?"

"Yes after the healer’s appointment. He's bringing lunch for one o'clock."

"Excellent, I’ll be next door whilst the healer is here; I’ll cast privacy charms. I have a report to finish but I'll have a quick break when your sessions ends. I’ll go to the office when Draco gets here, so you can both have some space. He can let me know when he wants to leave and I'll come back."

"I don't need a babysitter!" Harry grumbled.

Hermione raised her eyebrows. "Harry, I'm afraid after the way you've behaved recently, I rather think you do." Harry shot her an evil look, but she merely glared back at him. "Now, what are you going to do this morning?"

Harry looked blank, "I really don't know. I don't have any hobbies, do I? I just catch bad wizards, and drink, and pass out, and lust forlornly after Draco! And you've taken three out of four of those away. And I suppose it's not forlornly anymore, so you've practically taken that one away as well. I really don't know what I'm going to do with myself!"

"So you need a new hobby. After the wedding maybe you can Apparate somewhere with Draco and go flying together. Until then," she smirked, "I have lots of books you could read!"

"I could read 'Hogwarts: A History'" Harry said with a totally straight face, until she hit him with the tea towel. "Ouch! Do you do that to Ron?"

"He loves it!" Hermione said mischievously. Harry groaned. He did _not_ need to think of his best friends in _that_ way!

"Anyway…! We’d better get you ready for Healer Lieber. Did I tell you she’s the Squib daughter of an Austrian pureblood and an English one. She studied psychology at Oxford University, before specialising in Healing, using the Muggle methods for a non-Potioncentric approach to Mind Healing…” Harry zoned out at this point, though he thought Hermione had continued for at least fifteen minutes more. Clearly she had made a positive impression on Hermione.

The door chimed at 9.55 precisely. Freyja Leiber was a softly spoken woman in her forties, with a slightly foreign accent. She was small and slim, with a gentle manner, straight brown hair and brown eyes. Harry would probably not have noticed her in a room, had he not been taught to observe as part of his Auror training.

Hermione introduced them and performed yet another Unbreakable Vow, with Healer Lieber promising complete secrecy, unless she believed Harry was behaving in a way likely to harm himself or others. Hermione cast impressively strong privacy charms on the room, before leaving, with Harry adding a Muffliato of his own.

Healer Leiber settled herself into one of the easy chairs in the sitting room and pulled a small Muggle alarm clock out of her handbag. She set it up carefully on a table where they could both see it easily and explained the session was for one hour, until eleven o’clock.

She handed Harry a typed confidentiality agreement, printed from a computer, as opposed to ink and parchment.  She then passed him a form to fill in, asking him to rate his mood, sleep, how optimistic he was feeling about the future, how he felt about himself, and on and on. When he had completed it, she asked what had brought him to see her today.

Breathe. In one two three four five, hold it one two three four five, out one two three four five. And repeat. Harry spoke cautiously; even with the Unbreakable Vow, the privacy charms and the Muffliato, he didn’t feel entirely able to trust her. There was a faint possibility this was Rita Skeeter playing an exceedingly long game. He had no desire to see ‘Harry Potter: the Early Years Spent in a Cupboard!’ or ‘Harry Potter: The Boy Who Lived to Have a Nervous Breakdown’ splashed across the Daily Prophet. On the other hand, there had been nothing in the news about Hermione’s confidential business and as one of the War Heroes, it would have sold a lot of papers, had such information been available.

He had to trust Healer Lieber at least a little, but he would start by explaining why it was hard. He began talking hesitantly about the Triwizard Tournament: how Rita Skeeter had lied and manipulated, publishing misleading and damaging articles about him and his friends. Frau Leiber nodded and made the odd comment. He talked about not being believed after Voldemort’s return, Dolores Umbridge, being ‘Undesirable No. 1’; the words spilling out of him.

In no time at all, Healer Lieber gently drew his attention to the clock and Harry could not believe the hour had gone so fast. She asked if Harry would like a second session with her and they fixed one up for Friday morning, the day before the wedding.

-o-o-o-o-

After Frau Leiber left, Hermione made them both a cup of tea, saying she really couldn’t be long, as she had a report that had to be finished before 1pm. She asked, “What are you going to do this morning? Beyond getting ready for one o'clock, I mean."

"I don't suppose you've got any poetry books. Draco mentioned one about daffodils, and I wanted to read it."

Hermione's eyebrows hit her hairline again. "Yes, I have poetry books. I always preferred the Liverpool Poets, but I probably have an anthology with Wordsworth in. Are you going to take up English Literature? Now, that would be interesting."

"Or a general science book for kids? Draco wanted to know how the kettle worked and if I could read it I could work it out myself, and then tell him."

Hermione shook her head, "I'll get you one. Or, when you are feeling better, you could go to the Science Museum together. Now, come and have a look at the bookshelves, and see what you fancy. And remember to choose lots because you'll be here, or tethered to a babysitter, if you go outside the flat until the wedding on Saturday."

Harry stuck his tongue out at her, but she shooed him out of the kitchen, and towards the books.

Her collection was vast; of course, the wizarding section was gigantic, he expected nothing less. But all the Muggle books she had too: literature, art, history, geography, science, politics, economics and more, shelves and shelves and shelves. He took the collected works of poetry Hermione handed to him, and he managed to choose a dozen or so others.

Hermione seemed to have a vast collection of travel books and she confessed she tended to buy guides for places she wanted to visit, rather than just because she was actually going somewhere. Harry had never left Great Britain, mainly because he just hadn't got around to it, but also because he'd never had anyone to travel with him. It would be nice to visit other countries; he knew there were wizarding communities across the globe.

Oz had talked about Australia, of course, and he couldn't imagine the Malfoys choosing to holiday in a Muggle place, so there must be one in Tuscany as well. He realised just how single-minded his life had been. He had been joking about only having four hobbies, but it was true. He resolved to do something more with his life than work and drinking – though, if he could only keep his courage, he was hoping to do more than simply lust for Draco.

He spent the rest of the morning reading. There was a guide to Tuscany: he thought the striped church in Florence looked amazing, and the leaning tower of Pisa was interesting and the horse race in Siena sounded fantastic. He was happy to go anywhere with really good pizza, so Italy would have to be first on his list.

Then he read the poetry collection: the daffodils poem was pretty, but he soon agreed with Hermione that the Liverpool Poets were more his kind of thing – they seemed more down to earth. He flicked through a book by man called Brian, which reminded him of Dumbledore. He liked a poem where someone had brought a canary to sing in an opera house and all the rich patrons had been disgusted. That reminded him of Narcissa Malfoy's expression of disdain at the Quidditch World Cup. He sighed, that was another thing that freaked him out about a possible relationship with Draco: he'd have to 'meet' Lucius and Narcissa and wouldn't _that_  be fun! Breathe. In one two three four five, hold it one two three four five, out one two three four five. And repeat.

Still, the morning passed pleasantly until it was time for Harry to shower, shave, and dress ready for lunch with Draco. He put on a shirt and jeans, and went back to the books to wait for 1 PM. He looked at another guide book, this time for Paris, and began to make a list of places he wanted to visit. He started looking at the recommended restaurants and soon found a companion book with a guide to menus and regional dishes. He was getting rather hungry when the clock struck one, only to jump out of his skin when the ever punctual Malfoy knocked on the Granger-Weasley front door. Breathe Harry breathe. In one two three four five, hold it one two three four five, out one two three four five. And repeat. He lurched out of his seat and moved towards the door.

Draco was dressed in muggle clothes: a jacket, shirt and trousers. Harry wondered really if there was anything that didn't flatter the blond, Draco looked so handsome and his heart soared. He greeted Harry with a 'Good afternoon, Harry,' and a peck on the lips.

Hermione joined them, and, after exchanging pleasantries, enquired as to their plans for lunch.

Draco cleared his throat, "The weather is unseasonably fine for October, so I wondered if Harry would like to come for a picnic with me?" He indicated a shrunken wicker basket, "I have everything with me, but if you prefer we can have it inside."

Hermione looked at Harry anxiously, "What do you want to do?"

Breathe. In one two three four five, hold it one two three four five, out one two three four five. And repeat. Harry pulled a face, "If we go out we'll have to deal with all your crazy fans."

Draco grinned, "Actually I was intending to take you to a Muggle park." Hermione's jaw dropped. "If you'd rather we can wear Glamours. Do you fancy a Muggle picnic in a Muggle park."

"It sounds nice," Harry volunteered.

"Will you, you know, look after him?"

Draco grimaced. "You can cast one, it's fine."

Harry looked puzzled. Hermione said apprehensively, "We don't want you to get agitated and run off again, so there'll be a tethering spell. You won't be able to go more than five metres from Draco. If you do, you'll just be Apparated back here."

"I'm not a toddler!" Harry bristled.

"Not in age, maybe, but you've scared us, so we are going to treat you like this until you show us you can behave like an adult. You need to face your demons, not run away from them. Plus Molly will have all our heads if you don't make it to the wedding. Anyway, if you are going out, I'll go to work. Please, can you bring him back for 6 o'clock? Now, hold hands."

Harry blushed predictably as Draco took his hand. Hermione raised her wand, casting the tethering charm, " _Legarsi_ ," with a flourish. She left for the Ministry before the green sparks had finished looping round their wrists.

"Ready to go?" Harry nodded. Draco cast a Disillusionment Charm and then they Apparated.

-o-o-o-o-

Draco took them to Kew Gardens, leaving the Disillusionment Charm on, just in case. Inside the restored-to-full-size hamper was a blanket for them to sit on, as well as a massive amount of delicious looking food, with a Cooling Charm applied.

Harry, though his appetite was not fully restored after his week of a mainly whisky diet, was nevertheless hungrier than he expected. Draco had been to a French delicatessen and bought real baguettes and cheese, as well as lots of salad, some sliced meat, and a large bowl of profiteroles, with chocolate sauce. There were also strawberries and a bottle of sparkling grape juice. It was clear that they were determined to keep him off the alcohol for the time being, and Harry thought ruefully that it probably wouldn't be a bad thing.

It was one of those rare October days with fine, warm, clear weather. Draco fed Harry choice titbits and Harry returning the favour when he realised quite how much the blond liked strawberries dipped in chocolate sauce. He began to think some rather salacious thoughts about the chocolate sauce.

They snogged a little and Harry didn't get too spooked. He practised his breathing exercises. They lazed around, chatting idly about work and Harry's future plans to see the world. Then, they snogged a bit more. As it approached six o'clock, the park began to shut down and they packed up, slipping behind a large tree to Disapparate to the flat.

-o-o-o-o-

(Wednesday)

Draco had obviously reported positively to Hermione as the tether was increased to ten metres. They went to the Science Museum, in Kensington and learned how electricity worked, marvelling at the displays and playing with the interactive exhibits. There was also considerably more snogging, until they were told off by a teacher with a school party of small kids, who all sniggered at them until Harry was Weasley-red again. He was approaching a full-blown panic attack but Draco dragged him off to the bathroom. He prompted Harry to breathe and held his hand whilst he did so. As soon as Harry was calm, Draco Apparated them back to the flat.

They continued the snogging on the sofa, until Hermione surprised them. Harry realised it was 6 o'clock and he had spent most of the afternoon kissing Draco. A very profitable use of his time, he decided.

-o-o-o-o-

(Thursday)

Harry had to get formal robes for the wedding. Shopping sent him into a full-scale panic attack at the idea of people looking at him, questioning him, talking to him. It took a while before Draco and Hermione could calm him down.

With Draco's celebrity status, a Glamour was needed to keep the mob away and Harry had no problem going incognito, so he had one too. He still approached Madam Malkin's with a little trepidation. He didn't like clothes shopping at the best of times, and Draco fulfilled the worst stereotypes of gay men as he fussed over hemlines, and the cut and colour of the robes. Harry thought he must have had to change outfits twenty times and he was bored senseless.

Finally, Draco seemed content, and the robes were ordered and paid for, to be delivered on Saturday morning. He obviously felt that Harry needed a reward so they went to a Muggle ice cream shop, Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlour, sadly, no longer being open. Harry couldn't decide as they all looked delicious, but, in the end, they chose six scoops between them in a takeaway container. However, Draco took them back, not to Hermione and Ron's flat, but to his own, next to Wimbledon Common.

Once there things really began to heat up. Up ‘till now they had both stayed completely clothed and hands had stayed very much above the waist… this was about to change. Draco took Harry in one hand and the ice cream and spoon in the other and led him to the sofa. He began to feed Harry spoonfuls of the creamy concoctions, with a snog in between each mouthful. It didn't take long before one missed, landing on Harry's shirt. He squealed with the cold and began to take it off.

Harry's bare chest made rather an impression on Draco. His kisses moved from Harry's mouth to the affected area, as if the heat from his mouth could keep Harry warm. Harry found he rather like the warmth of Draco's breath and mouth on his uncovered skin, and he responded with some rather throaty moans, which only seemed to encourage the blond.

Soon, Harry's soiled shirt was on the floor and Harry's fingers were scrabbling with the buttons on Draco's. He was finding it very hard to focus as Draco was licking and sucking his nipples, which were more sensitive than he had ever imagined. Draco's hand was also caressing the back of Harry's neck, another rather susceptible area, and he kept forgetting how to breathe, though this time in a good way.

At last, Harry managed to undo Draco's shirt and he saw with horror the Sectumsempra scars on the otherwise perfect, porcelain skin. Fuck! Breathe Harry, Breathe. In one two three four five, hold it one two three four five, out one two three four five. And repeat.

Mute with guilt and self-loathing, he began to make amends in the only way he could, by kissing and licking along them until Draco was gibbering incoherently and carding his fingers through Harry's messy hair. He could feel Draco's arousal against him as he trailed kisses across the blond's torso, but it no longer frightened him. It was not something he wanted to investigate at this precise moment but neither did the consequence of his kisses deter him.

It is debatable what might have occurred were it not for the chirruping of Draco's Tempus charm announcing it was almost six o'clock.

As it was, they both swore, Harry loudly and Draco quietly. They dressed quickly and Disapparated to meet the 6 p.m. curfew.

-o-o-o-o-

(Friday)

Friday’s counselling session went as well as could be expected. Harry found himself sharing some of the episodes in the Horcrux hunt. How he felt when wearing the locket, escaping from Gringotts, the Fiendfyre, the horror of realising he was yet another one of Voldemort’s Horcruxes and would have to die. Being set up by Dumbledore from day one. Snape as double agent. Draco protecting them at the Manor. He had trouble speaking at times. Once again, he was surprised when the session reached the hour, even with the clock in front of him the whole time. A third session was booked for the following week.

Hermione looked at his shell-shocked face and wordlessly handed him a bar of chocolate with one hand and a cup of Camomile tea with the other. She helped him count his breathing, until he was feeling less unsteady. He sat for a while, just staring out of the window, watching the world continue to turn, despite the turmoil in his head.

Eventually he was up to his date with Draco, and sent off his Patronus to say he was ready. The plan for Friday was to go to the National Gallery by Trafalgar Square. As they were going by tube, Hermione increased the length of the tethering charm to two hundred metres, but they were scarcely separated by more than two metres. They held hands as they wandered around the magnificent Victorian building, admiring the pictures. Every so often, Draco would explain that, actually, such-and-such a painter was a wizard.

Apparently, the significance of certain objects in a still-life was really a code to other wizards. Harry, though, was not desperately interested as what he _really_ wanted to do was continue where they had left off on Thursday. He hinted at this and the speed at which Draco whisked him into the bathroom to Apparate to Malfoy's flat nearly crushed him.

At the flat, it took mere minutes of ardent canoodling before Harry had got his and Draco's shirts off. He attended to the Sectumsempra scars with his tongue, leaving the blond delirious. The pale skin before him was flushed with passion, and Harry's terror was gone. He kissed the trail of fair hairs down. He knew how hard he was and he could feel Draco's against his chest. His fingers fumbled with Draco's belt and managed to get it unfastened. The buttons of the fly took a little longer, but he soon had them undone. Fearless, he tugged at the blond's trousers and Draco lifted his arse slightly off the sofa so Harry could ease them down.

Draco wore boxers, in a midnight blue silk. The soft material caught slightly on the rough skin of Harry's fingers as he stroked the blond's thighs and hips, staying just millimetres away from the prominent bulge. He ran his tongue along the top edge of the silk pants and the whine Draco made was such an extraordinary sound that Harry almost stopped.

Almost.

"Tease!" the blond mumbled. Harry smirked. He slid his hand inside the fabric gap and encountered flesh. Draco whimpered as Harry lightly slid his fingers across the hot, firm skin. It felt amazing to his touch, different to his own yet reassuring the same. And not quite as big as he'd feared!

The angle was wrong, admittedly but when he tried the sort of movements that he would have personally enjoyed, Draco's groaning increased in pitch and volume. He licked his other hand and swapped, needing there to be a bit less friction. He vaguely heard Draco mutter something and suddenly the blond's hand was covered in a cold silvery gel, which dripped on to Harry.

"What the _fuck_  was that?!?" he exclaimed!

"Lubrication charm," Harry looked blank, "what, you've never cast one before?"

"No!"

"Well, then it's about time you learned!" He slipped a chilly handful to Harry who revenged himself by not warming it before application. He giggled at Draco's squeal, but soon applied himself to the task in, ahem, hand. With the added moisture, it took only a half dozen strokes and Draco came with a grunt, "Oh Merlin, Harry!"

The sound filled him with fire and his hand was covered in Draco's hot cum. He'd made Draco come! Draco had made those noises because of _him_! How amazingly sexy was that?! He rutted against Draco's leg, rubbing his face on the blond's chest, and coming hard. He collapsed in a sweaty heap and for long minutes all that could be heard was noisy breathing, as they came down from their high.

Draco retrieved his wand and cast a Cleansing Charm on them both before flipping Harry onto his back, grey eyes gleaning like mercury. "My turn!" he smirked lasciviously. He kissed Harry frantically, quickly stripped him of the rest of his clothes before applying his mouth to Harry's half-hard dick.

"Oh…oh…Draco…oh YES!" The wet heat was utterly amazing. Gods why hadn't he done this earlier? The sensation was incredible, like nothing he had ever felt before. His eyes rolled back into his skull and he grabbed a handful of sofa cushion to steady himself. He could feel prickles of desire warming his body and he couldn't help as he bucked his hips, trying to get more into Draco's eager mouth. Draco's hand grasped the base of his shaft; putting an end to that nonsense and "Oh Merlin!" now he was rolling Harry's balls in his free hand, as well.

Harry slid his fingers through the silky blond hair as a tongue went everywhere, up and down his cock, dipping into the slit and flicking over the frenulum. "Yes, there! Oh there!!!" He suddenly felt terribly embarrassed, as if Malfoy would laugh at the noises he was making. He shoved his hand into his mouth and bit it hard, not wanting to make any more mortifyingly humiliating noises.

The tongue continued, wreaking havoc as it went, sometimes a suck here, and a nibble there…Harry lost the power of rational thought. His toes began to curl and his muscles tensed; he tried to warn Draco of the oncoming storm, but all his vocal cords could produce were squeaks. He tugged on the blond's hair, only to have the sucking increase in strength and…it was all over.

It took a while for Harry's brain to reboot and go back online, but Draco was still looking smug and incredibly pleased with himself. He had kissed his way back up Harry's body and had snuggled his head into Harry's neck. As far as Harry was concerned, the blond could stay there for ever. Draco could do no wrong. It had been the most outstanding experience of life so far.

He was still high as a kite when the 6 o’clock charm went off.

 -o-o-o-o-

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N (1): the poems referenced are 'I Wandered Lonely as a Cloud' (also commonly known as 'Daffodils') by William Wordsworth, and 'Interruption at the Opera House', by Brian Patten. Brian Patten is my all-time favourite poet, since we studied him at school. He is one of a group of English writers, known as the 'Liverpool Poets'.
> 
> A/N (2): the Science Museum and the National Gallery are both in central London, and Kew Gardens is in South West London. I recommend visiting if you ever come to the UK. And for ice cream, not too far from Draco's Wimbledon flat, how about the heavenly Gelateria Danieli in Richmond?


	7. A Consummation Devoutly to be Wished

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Premise: Harry, Draco and Ron are Aurors. Draco has saved Ron's life, so everyone, including the Weasley Clan adore him. Harry is jealous. I wanted to write something where the angst in a story came from something other than Ron hating gays and hating Draco.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: J K Rowling is a god of fantasy fiction. I don't own anything, except my laptop, so please don't take it away from me. If I owned the boys they'd basically never get out of bed and they'd let me watch.
> 
> Warnings: ANAL SEX and all associated actions. Slash HPDM. Awkward First Time Sex. Swearing. British-isms. Sarcasm/Dry British black humour. Mental health coping mechanisms. EWE. If you are homophobic and/or don’t like boys doing stuff with other boys then why are you reading this?
> 
> Any non-canon characters are named for various science fiction writers from the 1950s onwards.
> 
> Any non-canon spells are in my pigeon Italian. I may be British but I didn't go to the kind of school where we learned Latin, OK!

-o-o-o-o-

** None But The Brave Deserves The Fair – Chapter 7:  ** ** A Consummation Devoutly to be Wished **

(Saturday)

The morning of the wedding dawned crisp and cold. All the warmth of the sunny, bright Tuesday and the picnic at Kew had gone and, though the sky was clear, it was chilly. Hermione, one of Ginny's bridesmaids, along with some Weasley cousins, were already at the Burrow. Ron and Harry would follow at eleven; the ceremony would be at one.

Harry lazed in the spare room bed and thought about the previous few days. He had Draco, he had his friends, he could go back to work soon, he could have it all. And it felt amazing. Finally the gods had dropped everything into his lap at the same time. If this was his reward for ridding the world of Voldemort and the Death Eaters, he'd take it over an Order of Merlin any day. He grinned happily to himself.

And tonight, if all went to plan, he would final lose his pesky virginity. Draco had sweet-talked Hermione and Ron when he'd brought a still dazed and very smiley Harry back last night. Draco’s rather manipulative yet charming Slytherin side was in play. Surely they'd like a night off? With the bustle of the wedding and all, they didn't need to be worrying about Harry, too! Draco would mind him at the ceremony and at the reception, _and_ he could stay at Draco's flat for the night, so they didn't have to worry about Side-Along Apparating him home if they wanted more than one glass of champagne.

Hermione looked touched and gave Draco a hug, whilst Ron gave him a wink and made some rather vulgar hand gestures. Harry had blushed his usual rosy hue, but either Hermione's perceptive nature was having a night off, or more likely she knew _exactly_ what was going on, what hopefully would be going on, and was, in fact, giving her tacit approval.

That polite but rousing knocking would be Draco or possibly Harry’s new formal robes, or probably both. He usually got dressed for formal occasions like obligatory Ministry functions with Hermione fretting and tweaking his outfit. She had handed the mantle of making Harry look respectable for the wedding over to Draco, with no concern at all.

Harry jumped out of bed in his t-shirt and boxers and dived for the shower before a sleepy sounding Ron had made it to the front door. He had seen Draco before in poncy mode pre-Ministry gatherings. He was in love with Draco, but this was his least favourite part of Draco's personality, and all the force of the anally retentive pureblood (fussy poof stereotype) was about to descend on his head big time. Being thoroughly clean was the only step he had any control over.

By the time he emerged, with a towel around his waist and one around his shoulders, they were in the kitchen. Draco was making them all tea and simultaneously frying sausages and eggs, whilst Ron was toasting bread with his wand, and they were bickering merrily about Quidditch.

Harry paused by the kitchen door, trying to get the water out of his ears. He marvelled that, if by some means their twelve-year old selves could somehow see ten years into the future, they would never believe the situation: Ron Weasley and Draco Malfoy chatting away like old friends, Draco performing duties of a house-elf and Harry preparing to lose his virtue to a boy, and Malfoy at that! Breathe Harry, breathe. In one two three four five, hold it one two three four five, out one two three four five. And repeat.

He pulled on a t-shirt and jeans before sauntering in to join them. Ron was gesticulating wildly whilst trying to chew a sausage, egg and ketchup sandwich, Draco was looking slightly Malfoyesque and attempting to avoid flying morsels. He smiled _that_ smile at Harry, rising to serve Harry's breakfast from the platter's current position under a warming charm. He presented the plate with a flourish and kissed Harry on the cheek, ignoring Ron's snickering.

They ate breakfast together before Draco whisked Harry and the new dress robes off to the spare bedroom to try and combine them in a way which met his extraordinarily high standards. Harry submitted patiently to being mauled, fiddled with and tweaked.

By the time the blond was finished, Harry almost didn't recognise himself. The robes were a deep blue, a colour he had never really thought of wearing, but they (apparently) brought out the green of his eyes. His hair was tamed with gel, but not in the severe style of the teenage Malfoy but into rather fetching spikes. Ron chortled that Harry looked like a hedgehog in the mating season (slighter coarser terms were used), but he cowed when threatened with the gel himself, and beat a rapid retreat. 

-o-o-o-o-

Harry, not a massive fan of pomp and circumstance at the best of times, did think wedding ceremony was lovely: Ginny looked stunning and Michael Corner suitably stunned. Molly Weasley had sobbed into umpteen handkerchiefs and the Weasley menfolk took it in turns to use Drying Charms on them, before handing them back to her. He only had to remind himself to breath a few times.

At the reception, champagne floated by unsupported so people could help themselves. Harry stuck to the sparkling raspberry juice though. He thought happily that, unlike Bill and Fleur's wedding, there was pretty much zero chance of this wedding being crashed by Death Eaters.

As the band began to play, he watched as Ginny and Michael danced their first dance to whoops and cheers. He could look dispassionately at Ginny and think what a beautiful woman she was, whilst still having absolutely no desire to be in Michael's place. He was just happy she was happy, in the same way he would be for any of his friends.

Ron was dancing with Hermione, and you didn't need to be able to lip-read to see that he was obviously counting the steps. Oz was twirling Emily around – he was a rather good dancer. He had been on the wrong end of some of Oz's lewd banter before, and he didn't want to lose his nerve before tonight, so he was keeping away from the Australian for the time being.

A tap on his shoulder surprised him, and he turned to see Draco bowing slightly and offering his hand, "Please, would you dance with me?"

"I can't dance!" Harry warned, "I'll end up stepping all over your feet!" but he let Draco pull him on to the dance floor anyway.

"I’ll lead; you just need to follow, OK? You don't have to worry." Draco was a brilliant dancer, Harry sighed, mentally adding another thing to the ever-lengthening list of the blond's accomplishments.

"I suppose dancing lessons are another pureblood thing?" Draco just smiled as he manoeuvred Harry around the floor, managing to stop him from swerving into anyone and keeping his own feet untrampled. They swayed together and Harry thought that, actually, this wasn't too bad. He could smell Draco's cologne-and-hot-water scent again and it just made him feel safer in the encircling arms. Draco was a few inches taller so it just felt right to rest his head on the shoulder in front of him. This seemed to please the blond, who signified his approval by pressing his lips to Harry's temple.

-o-o-o-o-

After a few more dances, and, being careful not to be the first, second or even third couple to depart, they Apparated back to Draco's flat.

Draco made them both some tea, refusing to tell Harry what it was, saying only that it was 'stimulating'. Tasting it, Harry decided it was probably ginger and something. The blond disappeared for a few minutes, having waved Harry in the direction of his bedroom.

Breathe Harry, breathe. In one two three four five, hold it one two three four five, out one two three four five. And repeat. Harry took the large mug of ginger tea and, with his re-found bravery, opened the door to Draco's bedchamber.

It was not the feared pervert's secret dungeon-like lair, with hooks for handcuffs and a display of whips on the wall. It was a normal sized room with normal furniture and normal decorations. There was a large window, with dark blue curtains, overlooking a moonlit Wimbledon Common and Harry knew if he was here during the day, he would have been able to see a couple of dog walkers and the odd jogger in between the trees.

The walls were blue and the furniture dark wood. There was a bed, a massive wardrobe, a chest of drawers and dressing table. The far door probably led to an en suite. There were two pictures, neither of them portraits thank goodness, as Harry didn't particularly want an audience, considering what was about to occur.

Draco's bed wasn't some impressive antique, sized for orgies, with multiple notches on the bed post, and black satin sheets. It was a normal king size, in dark wood, with sky blue bed covers, a mass of blankets and a blue and white patchwork quilt. In short, if Harry had had to guess at the décor, he would have failed miserably on every count.

He jumped slightly as Draco kissed the back of his neck and slid his arms around Harry's waist.

"Hello."

"Hi." Breathe Harry, breathe. In one two three four five, hold it one two three four five, out one two three four five. And repeat.

"Why so jumpy, Harry, I'm not going to eat you!" Harry sniggered. "Unless you want me to!" Draco amended, kissing Harry's neck again.

Harry took another deep breath, turning in the circle of Draco's arms to face the blond and slipping his arms around Draco's neck. He buried his face in said neck. He just didn't have the words; there were so many thoughts running through his head – he really should have verbal diarrhoea, but this was more like verbal constipation… Breathe Harry, breathe. In one two three four five, hold it one two three four five, out one two three four five. And repeat.

Draco kissed his cheek, and moving Harry's head, captured his lips in a searing kiss, doing nothing for the whirl of thoughts and emotions.

"I know you are nervous so would you like a safe word?" Harry looked puzzled. "If you don't feel comfortable and you want to stop, you can say 'stop' or say…I don't know…'Slughorn' or something. Just tell me first so I know."

Harry giggled shyly, "'Slughorn' is fine."

Draco kissed him again and moved Harry's fingers to Draco's top button. "Do you want to unfasten my shirt?"

Breathe Harry, breathe. In one two three four five, hold it one two three four five, out one two three four five. And repeat. He began to undo the buttons. After the first one he paused, lifting his mouth to the blond's for reassurance but after that it was easy. He placed a kiss over each newly revealed patch of milky white skin. He was concentrating so hard, he was rather surprised to find Draco had shuffled them over to the bed, and it was so easy to allow himself to be transferred carefully on top of the unSlytherin coloured coverlet.

Draco's single-minded approach had got them this far and it soon had Harry's shirt, trousers, socks, and shoes dispensed with, and the rest of his clothes too. There was nothing between them now but two pairs of boxer shorts: Draco's were a tasteful medium silver grey, whilst Harry realised a little too late he had been wearing a novelty pair of red pants with golden snitches (a present from Ron).

Luckily they made Draco chuckle, which rather broke the tension. "How did I not spot these and confiscate them earlier? I would have been laughing to myself all the way through the ceremony!"

"Don't you want to get into my boxers?" Harry asked innocently. The kiss he received in reply was as far from innocent as it was possible to get, without them actually being naked.

"I want you out of them, that _is_ certain."

"Go on then…!" At the challenge Draco dragged them off Harry's hips in one swift motion, and Harry kicked them off his ankles and on to the floor as Draco's hot wet mouth surrounded his aching cock.

It was a criminal shame to push the blond's talented lips off his engorged member but, "You have to stop or I'll come," Harry panted, pulling Draco up for a kiss.

Draco smirked, "And the problem with that is…?"

"Don't you want to, erm, you know?" Breathe Harry, breathe. In one two three four five, hold it one two three four five, out one two three four five. And repeat.

"Fuck? Of course I do! But you can only come once because…?"

"Oh!" Harry blushed. "Well I might need a rest in the middle!"

"There's ginger and ginseng in the tea for a reason, you know!"

Harry giggled, "Do wizards have Boy Scouts?"

Draco looked blank, "Do we have _what_  boys?"

"Boy Scouts! It's a youth movement for muggle boys. They learn survival skills and good citizenship and stuff like that. But I only went three times until my cousin got kicked out for beating up smaller boys."

Draco gave him another Malfoyesque look as if to say 'this non sequitur is keeping me from getting laid because...?'

"Be prepared!" Harry blurted out, "That's the motto of the Boy Scouts. And you are very organised. You gave me ginger and ginseng and you've planned stuff really carefully this week, like a boy scout."

Draco was silent for long moments. Harry wondered whether comparing his lover to a muggle child, albeit an organised one, had actually been a wise move. He wished for the verbal constipation again. Breathe Harry, breathe. In one two three four five, hold it one two three four five, out one two three four five. And repeat.

"I thought I was planning and scheming to seduce you, like a good Slytherin. But they actually teach muggle children to do this…?!? Muggles are really, really weird!"

"No they don't teach children how to seduce...oh, sorry, I'll just shut up." Harry rolled Draco over and ground his nakedness into the still boxer covered blond and kissed him until the slightly worried look in the grey eyes had been replaced by lust.

He had to thank Merlin that at least one of them knew what they were doing; wondering for a split second if he had been with Ginny, whether she would have expected him to have stage managed the whole thing.

Then his mind flew off his ex and back to the unbelievably sexy, almost nude, man on the bed beneath him, who was now sucking his neck. "You are wearing too many clothes!" Harry gasped as Draco bit his ear, and then lapped at the lobe to soothe it.

It took only a few seconds to remedy this.

Harry propped himself up on his elbow and surveyed the naked blond. He was practically perfect, bar _that_ scar. An expanse of creamy white skin Harry just wanted to run his tongue and fingers along. He was trim, and not overly muscly but well proportioned, with long legs and, oh yes, Draco was certainly a natural blond…OK, there it was… Breathe Harry, breathe. In one two three four five, hold it one two three four five, out one two three four five. And repeat.

It was perhaps, a smidgeon longer than Harry's, and perhaps Harry's was a fraction thicker. But Draco's build was taller and leaner than Harry's, so that only seemed reasonable. It was certainly not the feared ten inches, though Draco had absolutely nothing to be ashamed of. The colour was paler than Harry's, but that, too, just matched its owner.

Other than those few brief differences, it seemed that a dick was a dick was dick. They were both circumcised – it seemed to be the custom of the British wizarding world, but not of the British muggle one (Harry remembered that being just one more thing Dudley had to torment him about – and EUUUUWWWW had he really just thought about Dudley's prick when he was in bed with Draco!) Breathe Harry, breathe. In one two three four five, hold it one two three four five, out one two three four five. And repeat.

Yesterday he had touched it, but he hadn't seen it, and this was all still so new and so strange. Harry ventured forth a hand at the same time as looking to Draco for permission, saying, “May I?” He nodded gravely, as a Victorian father might give consent to a suitor of his marriageable daughter, and Harry's fingers made contact. It felt like his, too.

"Wait!" Harry paused as Draco reached for his wand, "A quick lesson. Today's new charm: to lubricate oneself is ' _Lubrificarsi_ '. It really is every randy wizard's favourite spell! It always amazed me Flitwick never covered this one in class…" Draco tapped his own hand, and the slick silver unguent seemed to pour out of his wand and into his palm. He took Harry's hand and helped him to warm the gel, and then lay back.

Harry gently ran his slippery fingers up and down Draco's length, noting what made the blond inhale erratically, what made him shiver, and what made him stifle an excited whine. Draco liked it when Harry rubbed the head with the centre of his palm, especially if Harry fondled his balls at the same time. He was rather partial to Harry using both hands at once, and he really seemed to enjoy Harry stroking the frenulum, at least if his throaty hums were anything to go by. Draco seemed unable to control his own hands, which ran back and forth across Harry's upper body.

"Ha…Harry…wait…if you keep doing that, I'm going to come."

Harry leered, "I think my line here is 'but you can only come once because…?'"

"Oh yes, fine! Actually without sounding like a sappy Hufflepuff, I would actually like to come with you inside me, please, if that is on offer?"

Harry flushed, "Are you sure you don't want to, erm, to me…?"  
  
"Top? Not this time. It's easier for you this way."

"Will you show me what to do? I don't want to hurt you, and it sounds like I could _really_ hurt you if I don't do it right."

Draco considered this, head slightly on one side. "It doesn't hurt exactly, it can feel really uncomfortable, and it can sting like anything the day after. But there are ways to minimise all the bad things. Rule one: there is no such thing as too much lubricant."

"There is no such thing as too much lubricant." Harry parroted back.

"Good. Rule two: take your time. If you want to get off quickly, have a wank."

"Rule two: take your time."

"Very good. Rule three: start small."

"What?"

"Start with a finger. Then two, and so on."

"Oh right. Rule three: start small."

"Well done, Mr Potter. Exceeds Expectations. So, that's enough theory. Would you like to try the practical?" Harry grinned bashfully and nodded.

Draco hesitated and looked ill at ease for a moment. "There is a cleaning charm to make the going a little more…pleasant. I did it before I came in here though, I'll show you another time, OK?" Harry nodded again.

The fair-haired man rolled over so he was lying on his front. He opened his legs slightly and Harry could only look in fascination at that beautiful bottom, with the smooth cheeks, plump but firm. He wiped a hand on the sheet and began to trace down Draco's backbone with his fingers, one on either side. He kissed and licked down the spine until he reached the top of that gorgeous, sexy backside. Grabbing his wand, he practised his new charm and beamed when his hand was covered in the glistening salve. He warmed the goo and then ran his finger ever so gentle down the crack of Draco's arse. The blond shuddered.

He began to explore, running his digits up and down, round and round the swirled hole, and slipping just the tip of his finger inside. Despite the Slytherin's all-encompassing past experience, it really was tight and Harry had no idea how he was meant to get his prick in there without ripping Draco in half (not that he thought his dick was that big really but…) Still, he persevered and the charmed gunk really did make the going, erm, smoother.

He managed to slide his finger all the way in, and was slightly startled when a disembodied voice said, "Now, wiggle it around a bit, then take it out, add more lube and put two fingers in." Harry obeyed. "Ooooh, yes. Now, wiggle your fingers around a bit more. Can you feel anything?... Up a bit…to the left…oh, Merlin…Harry…yes …just there…oh yes…that's good, that's my prostate. That's what you'll need to try and hit with your cock."

Harry focussed hard. "Now, scissor your fingers, you need to make me loose enough to get your cock inside. Yes…that's great. Now, try three fingers…" Harry did as he was told, marvelling at the tautness. He was rock hard and ready to go as soon as Draco said to, but he was ready to take any instruction the blond gave him. The last thing he wanted to do was hurt the other man in any way. He was absolutely fascinated, playing with Draco's hole, and was enthralled by the pliable muscle and the way the man reacted to his movements.

"OK, I think I'm good to go. I want to be on my back for this though. At the risk of showing off my inner Hufflepuff, I want to see your face." The blond rolled back over, leaving a trail of lubricant as he moved, then reaching up and pulling Harry down for a thorough snog. Harry felt dazed and excited, nervous and absolutely ready. The readiest ready he'd ever been. Draco reached for his wand and cast the _Lubrificarsi_ , before slowly jacking Harry off, spreading the emollient all over, whilst holding Harry's gaze. It had to be the absolutely most erotic thing he'd ever seen.

Breathe Harry, breathe. In one two three four five, hold it one two three four five, out one two three four five. And repeat. "I really don't know how long I'm going to last!" he warned. Draco chuckled.

"We're twenty two!" he said enthusiastically, "We can always try again in half an hour! It doesn't matter if you last ten seconds or ten minutes or ten hours. Actually, maybe not ten hours or I'll be awfully sore!"

Harry grinned, dipping his head down to kiss the blond as he lined up his dick with Draco's entrance. He didn't have to be told again to take it slowly. He pushed forward gradually until just the head was inside. The tight, slick heat was incredible; the most amazing feeling he had ever experienced. Draco was panting rhythmically, exhaling short, harsh breaths of air that tickled Harry. "Is this OK?" he gasped, still petrified of hurting Draco.

"Hmmm", the blond nodded an affirmative, bringing his legs up around Harry's waist. Harry moved forward, a millimetre at a time until he was completely inside. Then he waited there for what seemed like an eternity, terrified he would come and ruin this…this amazing moment. He was in awe of Draco, for letting Harry fuck him. He didn't know if he'd be able to do this. To be _that_ vulnerable; to be completely in someone else's power. It was astonishing. The look on the blond's face was a one deep concentration and a faint trace of discomfort.

"Please move!" So Harry did.

As predicted he didn't last long. A few strokes, maybe as many as a half dozen. He felt his orgasm rise up through his body, like the unwinding of a mighty coiled spring, and he came with a yell, emptying himself into Draco. Harry collapsed for a minute, whilst hands ran gently over his back, shoulders and arms, calming him further.

When he came back to the land of the living, he felt unbelievably guilty. Draco still hadn't come and he needed to do something about that _now_!

He kissed the blond, ravishing his mouth, before working his way down his lover's body, leaving a trail of red marks on the alabaster skin. Reaching the flushed cock, he took it in his mouth. He'd never given head before, but he knew the theory and he'd viewed enough wizarding porn in the last few years to know roughly what to do (suck, _don't_ blow) and what not to do ( _no teeth_ ). He mouthed the rosy organ, humming, then swirled his tongue around the head, enjoying the blond's moans and whimpers. It was rather a thrilling feeling to have his lover completely in his power.

Suddenly inspired, he used a little more lubricant and a couple of fingers to delve for Draco's prostate. Slim fingers carded through his hair and it took only a little longer until, "Oh Merlin, Harry!" and his mouth was full of the slightly acidic fluid. He swallowed carefully, and laying his head on Draco's stomach, he relaxed, listening to the rapid breathing slow.

Long moments later, a sleepy voice cast a 'Tergeo' on them both and then pulled Harry up into waiting arms. They slept.

-o-o-o-o-


	8. The Epilogue (Or How to Train Your Gryffindor)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Premise: Harry, Draco and Ron are Aurors. Draco has saved Ron's life, so everyone, including the Weasley Clan adore him. Harry is jealous. I wanted to write something where the angst in a story came from something other than Ron hating gays and hating Draco.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: J K Rowling is a god of fantasy fiction. I don't own anything, except my laptop, so please don't take it away from me. If I owned the boys they'd basically never get out of bed and they'd let me watch.
> 
> Warnings: VERY STRONG SEXUAL REFERENCES. Slash HPDM. Dodgy Mental Health. Mental Health Coping Mechanisms. Swearing. British-isms. Sarcasm/Dry British black humour. EWE. If you are homophobic and/or don’t like boys doing stuff with other boys then why are you reading this?
> 
> Any non-Canon characters are named for various science fiction writers from the 1950s onwards.
> 
> Any non-Canon spells are in my pigeon Italian. I may be British but I didn't go to the kind of school where we learned Latin, OK!
> 
> 'None But The Brave Deserve The Fair' is a quote from a poem by John Dryden called 'Alexander's Feast'.

 -o-o-o-o-

  **This is the last part of my story. I hope you approve. Thank you to everyone who has left kudos, commented or bookmarked my story. I am working on another story (more Drarry) and if you would be interested in beta-ing, please let me know. No time pressure; I'm not a fast writer. This has only gone up so quickly because 95% was written in 2013.  
**

-o-o-o-o-

  **None But The Brave Deserves The Fair – Chapter 8: (The Epilogue _or_ How to Train Your Gryffindor)**

Harry woke gradually. He was warm, really warm. He felt peaceful and well-rested, but he couldn’t work out why. The bed was soft, softer than the Weasley-Granger spare one and certainly more comfortably than the one at his flat. He yawned and stretched… and the warmth moved with him. Holy Fuck! It was a person! And they were naked! And it was a man! A horny man, by the fact of the _thing_ burrowing into his back!

He freaked out, thrashing within the coverings, trying to get his arms and legs free from the blankets so he could jump out of the bed. A long leg threw itself across his hips and the bearer of the _thing_ straddled him and began to kiss him passionately. He couldn’t see clearly: he didn’t have his glasses and the room was dark but he recognised the taste of the man’s mouth and the hot water smell. His tension eased a little into the kiss, his limbs ceased their flailing, and he let Draco’s presence relax him. Breathe. In one two three four five, hold it one two three four five, out one two three four five. And repeat.

A blow job later and he could even have been considered to be calm. Calm until Draco asked him, over a brunch of smoked salmon and scrambled eggs, if Harry would like to move in with him. That's not to say that Harry was, in point of fact, hyperventilating, but his blood pressure certainly rose. The blond, though, had now found the winning formula and simply took him back to bed, where something other than Harry's blood pressure rose. Breathe. In one two three four five, hold it one two three four five, out one two three four five. And repeat.

He finally agreed, with no more protest, that yes, actually moving in with Draco, was 'oh yes, please, oh Merlin, Draco, yes' a very good idea.

-o-o-o-o-

Harry hadn’t thought to pack an overnight bag and, dressed only in a towel and dripping over the bedroom carpet, ended up transfiguring something from the far end of Draco’s wardrobe so it fitted him, rather than the taller, slimmer blond. The garments smelled very slightly of his lover and he felt safe.

He stuck his head through the Floo and arranged that they would pop over after lunch to see the Granger-Weasleys.

They Floo-ed over and Ron made the tea whilst Hermione pontificated at length about the wedding, and how lovely it had been, whilst stating clearly how different she wanted hers and Ron's to be.

It was in a natural break (Hermione pausing for breath) in the middle of this, that the bombshell of Harry moving in with Draco was dropped. The reaction was not _quite_ as expected. Ron looked delighted, shook Draco manfully by the hand and said he would make sure to call before Floo-ing over in future and made another one of his lewd hand-gestures.

Hermione said she was pleased and looked happy, but suggested Draco didn't remove the tethering charm for the moment in case Harry made another panicked bolt for Yorkshire. She surrendered the custody of Harry's wand and broomstick to the blond, recommending he didn't return them just yet.

They packed up Harry's belongings into his trunk, shrunk it to briefcase size and then Floo-ed back to Wimbledon. Draco began making space for Harry's meagre possessions in his room and organising things to his satisfaction.

Harry was in the sitting room, placing on the mantelpiece over the fireplace a silver-framed photo of his parents holding their baby, when he nearly jumped out of his skin.

"Oh, good afternoon, Mr Potter, I was not expecting to see you here. Draco did not inform me that I would have the pleasure of your company this afternoon." An elegant blonde head was in the fireplace and Harry was struck dumb. Breathe. In one two three four five, hold it one two three four five, out one two three four five. And repeat.

After a pregnant pause, "Is my son here? Please, may I come through?"

Breathe. In one two three four five, hold it one two three four five, out one two three four five. And repeat. "Erm, yes, erm I'll get him," Harry dashed into the bedroom.

Draco, swearing quietly, as he hadn't realised quite how close it was to four o'clock, hurried in to greet his mother, apologised profusely for forgetting the time and rustled up afternoon tea (a pot of Earl Grey, scones, jam, cream, and tiny cucumber sandwiches with no crusts).

Breathe. In one two three four five, hold it one two three four five, out one two three four five. And repeat. Harry dithered in the bedroom; he could take his invisibility cloak and escape. But to go where? He had occasionally Apparated without his wand but trying it when upset and stressed was likely to lead to Splinching. He couldn't fly without a broom. He couldn't use the Floo without Narcissa seeing him. He didn't have any wizarding money so maybe he could go to a Muggle hotel.

However, the 200 metre tether from Friday was still in place so he had just decided to walk round Wimbledon Common within the limits of the tether boundary (so as not be Apparated straight back to Draco's side) when Draco came in, and dragged him into the sitting room.

Mrs Malfoy's expression was neutral and she remained the perfectly poised aristocrat throughout. Draco clearly kept his mother informed about most things. She chatted politely about the weather, Ginevra Weasley's wedding, Auror work (chiding Draco gently about his workload), recent Ministry machinations, and their trip to the National Gallery. She must have been a little suspicious but said nothing, coaxed the tongue-tied Harry into a few words, asking courteously about his health, and whether he had enjoyed his recent 'holiday' from work.

Harry stammered his replies, getting redder by the moment. Breathe. In one two three four five, hold it one two three four five, out one two three four five. And repeat. Something in Draco must have finally snapped, and he placed his hand over Harry's and, looking his mother straight in the eye, he informed her nonchalantly that they were now together and Harry had moved in. The ice cool blonde did not bat an eyelid, looking appraisingly at the man her son and heir had shacked up with, before nodding towards Harry.

"Mr Potter, Harry, welcome to the family. I am sure you will take the very best care of my son. I am devastated I am not able to entertain you at the manor but Draco visits us on alternate Sundays, so I do hope you will be able to join him next weekend at our humble cottage. Lucius will be delighted."

Draco's hand was warm over his and Harry found the courage to say that, yes, thank you, that would be lovely - whatever he might privately have thought about Lucius Malfoy's attitude.

Narcissa finished her tea, made a little more well-mannered chit chat, before sweeping her immaculate pale blue robes into the Floo and back to the Lake District.

Harry collapsed in a nervous heap after Narcissa left. Her son consoled and comforted his Gryffindor in the way he had recently discovered worked the best. Within five minutes they were naked in the shower and Harry was having sex for only the third time in his life. As he entered Draco's hot, wet body, he reasoned that whatever else happened, his beau was very good at positive reinforcement.

-o-o-o-o-

The lovers had another few days of 'honeymoon', wherein they christened the kitchen, sitting room and spare bedroom of the flat, as well as a moonlit tryst on Wimbledon Common, though warming charms were needed, and the blond did have a bit of a bitch afterwards about the state of his hair.

-o-o-o-o-

A press conference was required, stage managed by Draco and Hermione, as well as Narcissa, who helped write the press release. The Daily Prophet had a field-day. The first headline, over a photo of them kissing, read 'None But The Brave Deserve The Fair', and rhapsodised endlessly about the spectacle of the raven haired and the fair haired together. They were front page news for weeks. Harry just shut his eyes, and practised his breathing whenever he saw anything remotely relating to them on the front page, but Draco cut out all the positive ones and made several scrapbooks.

-o-o-o-o-

Oz and Ron teased them mercilessly when they got back to work, and practically every comment was a sexual innuendo. Pictures, cut from the Prophet and Witch Weekly, appeared with saucy captions pinned to the office notice board and inside case files. Almost no work got done; Ballard was furious, Kylie sniggered, and Paula rolled her eyes.

Harry did a LOT of breathing exercises. Draco remained amazingly calm, if amused, but Harry and Oz got into a hexing war that escalated until Hermione finally stepped in and threatened all four of them all, including withholding sex from Ron, unless they started behaving themselves.

-o-o-o-o-

At the first family dinner with the Weasleys, Arthur and Molly were overjoyed and they were both hugged within an inch of their lives. Harry was mortified when Bill, Fleur, Michael and George paid their bets up to Ron and Ginny – there had been a sweepstake running on both when Draco and he would become a couple, and when they would move in together.

George managed to deflect a little attention, though, when he announced that Weasleys' Wizarding Wheezes had made their first one hundred thousand galleons. Ron had a rather speculative look on his face at this news and shortly after announced he would be leaving the Aurors after his and Hermione's wedding (newly married man, responsibilities, wanting to start a family, yadda yadda yadda), and would be joining George in business.

-o-o-o-o- 

Anticipation of first Lake District Sunday afternoon had Harry pale and shaking with dread and the method the blond came up with to pacify him was a revelation. He demonstrated to Harry the, erm, _intimate_ cleaning charm, _Clistere_ , before tongue-fucking him into a state of delirium. Afterwards Harry’s legs were so wobbly he was barely able to stand and he was so serene that the whole afternoon went off without a hitch.

Narcissa and the rather subdued post-Azkaban Lucius were far less trouble than Harry had feared. Mrs Malfoy never regretted her decision to betray Voldemort, and if that ultimately led Harry to Draco's side she seemed content. Lucius, always a little nervous of his parole status, wisely kept his mouth shut.

Draco topped for the first time when they got home that evening. It was not the last time.

-o-o-o-o-

Hermione and Ron married and had two children: Rose and Hugo. Hermione, in time, made Minister of Magic and she was wise and fair - of course! Ron and George took Weasleys' Wizarding Wheezes to new heights and they became very rich. No one has ever been able to mock a Weasley for being poor since, because they aren't!

George took Harry to the Potter vault at Gringotts and showed him exactly how full it had become since the WWW had made their first million galleons. Harry realised that he could restore his beloved to the kind of lifestyle he had been born to. Taking Draco for a weekend in Prague, he proposed and the blond joyfully accepted.

They had a quiet, family-and-close-friends-only wedding, inviting no one from public life and _definitely no journalists_. With Harry's share of the profits from WWW, they were able to buy a large house in the country, and whilst not quite on the scale of Malfoy Manor, the Potter-Malfoy Manor still had its own lake, stables and Quidditch pitch, and was, of course, heavily warded against the press.

They adopted four war orphans though there was almost full scale civil war over the names. Harry wanted to remember his parents, Sirius and Dumbledore, whilst Draco wanted pureblood constellation style names and argued that if anyone should be remembered, it should be Snape, who had saved Harry’s life so many times and had been Draco’s godfather. They finally settled on James Severus, twins Albus Sirius and Scorpius Abraxas, and Lily Narcissa.

Harry was made Chief Auror at the ridiculously young age of 27. He and Draco worked very successfully together and made excellent partners at work and home.

They genuinely did live happily ever after.

THE END


End file.
